


It's not what it looks like

by Iwriteinfearofsilence



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Gay, M/M, homoerotocism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 21:04:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 27,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwriteinfearofsilence/pseuds/Iwriteinfearofsilence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's relatively simple, with good grammar on the side. Gregory's horribly lonely, and has been for the duration of his life but this year has brought around a change (and not to mention colder weather). Sometimes you meet someone who can make you feel things you never knew you could, can make you want to do things you never thought you'd want to (specifically to specified personnels) and can make you happier than you ever thought you would be. Somehow, that's exactly what Mycroft does to Greg.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not depressed, I promise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [This person I know](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=This+person+I+know).



Mycroft Holmes’ problem solving skills were getting rusty, really, quite rusty, and we are talking _embarrassingly_ rusty. This problematic issue must be problem solved but if the problem to be solved is the inability to problem solve how does one go about problem solving that?

 

Mycroft pondered this while a shabbily dressed dirty blonde sucked him off. The pleasure was there, as it usually was, but it wasn’t enough to disrupt Mycroft’s train of thought, something he has never really experienced. Be this because of his incredible mind or his lover’s appalling love making skills. Either would suffice though he would not prefer the latter. Mycroft tried not to think while his erect cock was being treated, but his mind buzzed with indecent thoughts that the alcohol had lightly slurred. He found himself missing the Coke he had taken last night, but he was being careful, Anderson was already addicted and Mycroft had no intention of ending up the same way. The very thought put him off into a dread and a body shudder. Anderson worked shifts at the burger joint near their high school, though Mycroft didn’t visit he had heard his fair share of whispers and the addict was not faring so well. But Anderson was not what Mycroft wanted to be thinking about when he came, so he promptly dismissed the thoughts.

 

Inwardly, Mycroft groaned, why is it so hard to have an orgasm? He thought as he shoved the boy sucking him away. Mycroft pulled up his pants and buckled them on. Of recent the parties he had been attending were sloping downhill, after John Gimm had moved the weekly parties at his house had subsided and left Mycroft with an empty and quite frankly depressing calendar. School was too easy and home was too infuriating. It meant one thing, releasing his frustration in booze filled parties like a middle aged borderline alcoholic struggling to repay his bank loan while juggling his children’s school fees would. The thought depressed him and so did his every day life. “Fun” parties just wouldn’t cut it, he supposed as he pulled at his zipper and thumped down the stairs. The party raged on with no serious threat of inviting the police, though even they had given up on teenagers. As Mycroft surveyed the room no one’s presence struck him as enticing or exciting, in fact it all seemed rather boring and, to be frank, too _straight_ , if you understand what I mean. But of course you understand what I mean, you did just read about Mycroft’s sexual encounter with another male.

 

“Hey Mike you going so soon?” Someone called from behind him. It was a regular voice that fit in with the tedious regularity of the entire population of England and so Mycroft didn’t even bother looking back to see whom it was. He hoped the way he stalked off was an answer.

 

When he returned home that night he clicked on his lamp and exhaled loudly. Being alone at home was gratifying, even though he wasn’t _really_ alone. Sherlock was home, but Sherlock didn’t bother him unless he really had to, so home alone Mycroft was. The night was chilly but the walls were thick enough to keep out the worst of it. Nonetheless Mycroft added another layer of clothing to his already covered body. He gently sat down on the hard wooden chair and looked down at his mahogany desk. A stash of blank papers rested on one end in an intimidating stack. Mycroft peeled a paper from the top and picked one of his ballpoint pens. He began scrawling in perfect cursive, one he had adopted from his parents.

 

_Dearest beloved,_

_Where are you now? Time is slipping like the vain pretentious and narcissistic bitch she is. I grow wary of the abominable chores of today and tomorrow and perhaps the next day that follows. Poetry dries and music shrivels and becomes a part of the asinine society I am most unlucky enough to be lumbered with. Beloved, beloved, you are most becoming and your allure has driven me insane. You are as faint as the ghosts of the winter rain and as empty as my mother’s finest vase. Finding you is like attempting to grasp the falling snowflakes on my fingertips, so gentle and untouchable you are, nonetheless I persevere with an idiotic obsession. Finding you is as an attempt so futile yet my hollow meaningless life shall persist and see it through, regardless of how many breaths it shall steal. My days are numerous and never ending, finding you is a wish I must grant myself._

_Do not hide as you do, my dearest, you hold my hand and mock my pain yet you kiss away my endless tears. You are a paradox so fine I cannot have my fill, but you are a ghost of yourself and your touches are not real, I long for you, dearest, but you do not exist, not today, not now._

_In solitude I depart,_

_Mycroft Holmes_

Mycroft folded the paper and slipped it behind the painting that rested atop his bed. He sighed in gratitude towards paper and the marvels it worked for the mind. He felt somewhat relieved as he slipped into his bed and rested his eyes. Though the thoughts of his letter wheeled still around his head they had given him a moment of peace and it was not to drugs or alcohol that Mycroft Holmes was addicted, it was to that moment of silence in his deafening mind.

 

 


	2. Car Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read and find out young grasshoppers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews will be greatly appreciated, I already have in line a few more chapters and they'll be up on here for you in a couple of days, I'm going to try and stay ahead of the game this time, hope you enjoy :)

When Gregory Lestrade woke up that morning he was far more tired than he had been last night. Studying was a chore and he grew wary of all the expectations held against him. His loose grey pants slipped off him easily as he removed his clothing and climbed into the shower. Of course masturbating at 6:30 in the morning held no true appeal, but he did it because there was his hand and there was his penis, it was simple enough and by the end of it Greg was filled with a tired worn out feeling he could not completely understand. Trying to was as infuriating as last night’s pre-calculus homework. 

“You seem tired,” His mother, Grace, commented on his fatigued eyes. It was obvious that Greg was tired, so obvious it is one of those obvious things you don’t even bother bringing up because it is just that obvious. Greg commanded himself not to give in to the urge of rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, school does that mum,” He replied in the least sarcastic tone he could muster, which his mother will tell you is very, very much sarcastic.

“Do you always have to study so much? Aren’t you supposed to be partying and fighting with me all the time?” Grace asked.

“No mum don’t worry I own a secret underground drug company where I also hire prostitutes for middle aged men cheating on their wives,” Greg swallowed his cereal as he spoke and smiled widely for her.

“Thank god,” Grace muttered as she finished her egg and put down the newspaper. Greg leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Have a good day.”

“Thanks mum you too,” Greg shouldered his bag and waved once more before exiting the house.

It was cold outside, but not too cold. Just the right kind of cold to stir feelings of weather influenced emotions. Greg walked forward with a loose dedication for arriving at his destination. School was nothing he really enjoyed nor was it anything he didn’t enjoy. School was school just like the supermarket is the supermarket. He sighed far too loudly as he waked past the Holmes’ mansion and then the sigh was abruptly changed into a gape as a Chevrolet Impala ’67 model backed out of the driveway.

“You have to be kidding where does it end with you people?” Greg said to no one in particular. The card drove forward silently and gracefully. Greg groaned in his jealousy.

“I like the Chevy Impala but I’ve never thought it could compare to the Bentley.”

Greg turned abruptly and stopped. It was the oldest of the Holmes’ brothers, one he had never really took a liking to simply because they never had anything in common.

“That’s bull shit,” Greg said. He hadn’t really thought before he talked but then again he didn’t care, cars were his passion. No one fucked with him on cars and thought they could get away.

“You’re wrong Bentley’s are like wine they have a rich history and they taste delicious,” Mycroft strolled towards Greg.

“No, Bentley’s are like coke, you take them once and you get hooked but the outcome is not good.”

Greg walked along with the boy and couldn’t help but notice the slight flinch when Greg said “coke”. He was going to apologize for what really was an unintentional pry at private information but it was unintentional and he didn’t think he needed to apologize so they walked in silence.

“You are a sod,” Was the boy’s reply. “My name’s Mycroft Holmes,” He said, extending a hand.

“Yeah, I know, I’m Greg,” Greg replied as he shook the offered hand firmly. Mycroft smelt lightly of cigarettes.

They walked in an odd silence until Greg broke it as shamefully as he had with every other person that could potentially become his friend.

“You’re openly gay right?” More silence. “You know like ‘out of the closet’,” Greg added in a futile attempt to save himself. 

Oh god.

He thought to himself, and it was a perfectly justifiable thought because yes, he had made this situation awkward and perhaps jeopardized all future possibilities of befriending the young fellow at his side.

“Yes, I am,” Mycroft replied stiffly. Greg wondered why he sounded so unhappy to be openly gay when he was the one who openly admitted he was gay. Openly admitting you are gay is the kind of thing you admit when you know you are okay admitting it and know you will be okay when people ask questions about it. At least that’s what Greg thought and that’s why he found it odd when Mycroft took so unkindly to his completely warranted inquiry that really didn’t need to be asked when he already knew the answer. What can Greg say? Curiosity got the better of him.

“Nice,” Greg replied swiftly. There was even more silence so much silence it was like the silence made noise and threatened to deafen Greg.

“So are you…?” Mycroft asked hesitantly.

“Oh no, no, not at all,” Greg replied quickly, a little too quickly, he worried it might have been so quick it was offending. “I mean not that I mind I’m just not….you know,” Greg attempted explaining.

Mycroft smiled as though he knew something, which made Greg unnecessarily angry, the worst thing, after people who eat with their mouth open and then talk, is someone who smiles like they know something you don’t.

“Yeah I know,” Mycroft replied. Greg wondered subtly what that was about. His undermining “I know” seemed to imply he knew more than he said he knew, which made Greg want to know what he knew that he claimed he didn’t know.

They arrived at school and Mycroft said a quick good bye before dashing off into another direction.

It was just as Gregory had planned. Well, no not really, it wasn’t like he had planned at all, but Greg liked to tell himself that it was as he had planned because making friends is not easy and pretending like it’s because you don’t want to make friends makes not having friends easier.

He watched Mycroft leave in a little bit of solitude but nothing he wasn’t already used to. He trudged into the bleak hallways of his school and slipped into his first class like the average student that blended in with the rest of the school that he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, don't feel obligated to write a comment but if you do thanks :)


	3. It's not that bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be updating really quickly for a little bit, hopefully you guys are actually following along, I have a few more chapters lined up and if people do get interested in this fanfic I will continue it, tell me what you think :)

The laborious work of going to school and attending all the classes proved to be more difficult than yesterday and Greg, with his shoulders hunched forward and his head bowed, slipped in through the crowd of people like he didn’t really exist as an individual. His second class, IB Biology was a chore and he inwardly groaned as he entered. Talk of raging parties and the hottest new gossip ran tiring circles around his head. He sat himself in the back, where he usually sits, and noticed Mycroft on the other end, leaning against the wall. The red head glanced up and found Greg staring, he lifted an eyebrow in surprise and Greg blushed lightly as he looked away.

 

“Sit down and belt up class has started,” The teacher spit as he pushed through the group of kids mingling about in large circles. “I have two new labs for you to complete over the course of 3 classes, come take them and get started.”

 

The students shuffled towards the desk where the pile of papers sat peacefully. Greg waited till most people had gotten their papers to retrieve his own.

 

“Your partners are on the board,” The teacher added, only just remembering. Greg glanced back. _Dimmock,_ the word next to his name read. Dimmock, he knew Dimmock, a friend of Mycroft’s. Their group was well known for their trouble making and partying ways. Though Greg didn’t involve himself with the mindless politics of his high school, others didn’t hold back their tongues and overhearing conversations that are practically screamed don’t put you at fault do they?

 

Greg joined his partner on the lab table and tried not to feel hurt when Dimmock made a sour face at his arrival.

 

“Greg,” Dimmock greeted bitterly. Greg nodded his head in a “hello” type of manner. Dimmock didn’t seem to like this either because he grumbled something low and inaudible.

 

The next half an hour was spent in diligent work, well, work for Greg, messing around for Dimmock. Greg didn’t mind all too much so long as he could do what he had to.

 

“I got stuck with this sod,” Greg heard Dimmock talking to his friend. “A fucking bore.”

 

Well at least he was right there, Greg was a bore and even Greg could admit that. There was more talking he couldn’t understand. Then there was shuffling and Greg could feel Dimmock right above him staring down. Greg glanced up and gulped like a coward.

 

“Blimey you work fast, you must be some kind of freak,” Dimmock’s voice was deep and throaty, an unpleasant type of raspy as well. Greg looked down at his work, true, he was ahead of everyone else but not because he was smart, more so because everyone else just couldn’t do it.

 

Greg shrugged in reply, his mouth not responding. Dimmock moved away and rejoined his friends, after a little while he checked back again and Greg finished both labs in the one class.

 

“I knew you were a nerd but this is bollocks,” Dimmock said with a tone of insult. Greg looked down at his perfect work and couldn’t help but feel a little proud. “Bugger off now you bum I don’t need you anymore,” Dimmock shoved Greg lightly.

 

Greg complied, returned to his seat and plugged in his earphones, Indie rock blared through and he began his trig homework.

 

When class ended Greg silently stood and packed his work, on one end of the room Greg could hear Dimmock and his friends toss things around and laugh loudly. As he walked out familiar cologne drifted towards him. He glanced back and jumped in surprise at the closeness of Mycroft Holmes.

 

“Sorry,” Greg turned back around and walked faster, leaving the room. His heart still pounded at the encounter and when he looked back no one stood behind him, just the mess of people scattered in the hallway.

 

On his way home it began to drizzle lightly, he groaned at his mistake of not driving to school today.

 

The rain bled through his clothes and Greg shivered, the wetness leaking into him.

 

He pulled up his jacket and covered his head as he walked onwards. When he passed the Holmes’ mansion he caught a glimpse of a group of familiar looking boys. Dimmock and the rest of the gang, he realized. It was an empty street and the sun had hidden its face, as though afraid to bear witness to what was to happen. Greg walked faster and hoped they didn’t see him.

 

There was silence as he walked by and he breathed out in relief, thinking he had escaped.

 

“Hey, Greg!” He heard one of them shout. Greg walked even faster, hoping he could pretend he hadn’t heard them, there was running and then a hand pulled on his jacket, yanking him back. “Hey where do you think you’re going?” They smelt of alcohol and cigarettes, Greg flinched as Dimmock put his mouth next to Greg’s ear, the drunken teen’s breath licking his skin.

 

Greg didn’t reply, he didn’t think replying would do any good.

 

“You’re a fucking freak you know that?” Said another boy, he laughed and shoved Greg forward forcefully. Greg stumbled and fell, his head hitting the pavement painfully. A sharp pain struck him and he groaned as his hand went to the sore spot. There was more laughing and then someone’s shoe met his ribs. Greg cried out as the impact hit him, there was another hit on the other side and his hands wrapped around his body protectively, he moaned in pain and someone roughly picked him up. A fist flew at him and met his eye at the perfect angle, he fell back as the hands let go of him. For a moment his pain blinded him and he called out for help weakly.

 

Again and again he suffered hits, they were mild, not enough to truly hurt him but he was surrounded by an echoing laughter of mockery. When they finally left Dimmock picked him up and spit the word  “Freak,” once more at him before shoving him to the ground again.

 

It took a while to regain his vision and ability to walk, by then the rain had come to a gentle halt, a taxi passed by and he lifted his hand but it didn’t stop. He groaned and pushed himself up off the floor.

 

“Dammit,” He whispered as he limped towards his house. He smelt lightly of the alcohol they had rubbed on him. He was thankful his mother hadn’t returned from work, if she had seen him in his current state she would have freaked out, maybe called the school, and personal experience had shown him that was exactly what he didn’t need.

 

When he unlocked his house and walked in he rested against the door and breathed in, the effort of the simple movement shocked him, there was a sharp pain from his entire chest area when he exhaled and he groaned. He entered his room and peeled off his blood stained shirt, his cheek was bleeding and his chest crusted over with the scarlet liquid. He pulled out the medical kit his mother had gotten for him and cleaned up his own mess, flinching at the sting of the medicine. When he had applied the bandages he leaned towards the mirror and examined his eye, tomorrow it would be black and he wondered  how he would hide it. He stepped back and looked at his entire self. The disgust the mirror brought him forced him to turn away. He hated himself more than he ever had in that moment, he sat extremely slowly on his seat and sucked in sharply at the pain. He pulled out a paper and began to scrawl in messy writing.

 

_Dear whomever,_

_I’m in pain, both physically and mentally, although both come hand in hand, don’t they? I don’t understand, what have I done? Whom have I hurt? Why is it me?_

Greg breathed in deeply and calmed himself down.

 

_I’m lonely, friend, far too lonely for it to be acceptable. This world is so shallow, run, I tell myself with every waking moment, run. I need you, where are you? Oh yes, of course, you don’t exist. Nothing good exists, the stars mock my pain and the sun laughs at my face. I’m alone, I’ve always been._

_Greg._

He sighed as he folded the paper and tucked it under his textbooks, and then he opened his notebook and began his work as he did everyday.


	4. Just as friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I'm back with another chapter, I have exams this week and it's not been fun :/ hope you guys have been having a better time :) Enjoy!

“What did you guys do while I was gone?” Mycroft leaned against the wall and took a slow drag from his cigarette.

“I shagged Dany,” Dimmock replied. Mycroft rolled his eyes, of course that’s all these mindless horny monkeys could have done. Although he wasn’t really one to talk himself.

“I had the worst bore of my life, I was biting my arm off to get out of there,” Mycroft kissed the cigarette again and exhaled.

“Yeah you missed out, we waited for you at your house but your brother wouldn’t let us in, fucking arse hole,” Said Dimmock.

“Good thing he didn’t, you would have torn my house apart,” Mycroft replied calmly, but he was extremely relieved Sherlock hadn’t let them in. Mycroft had talked to his younger brother about NEVER letting Mycroft’s friends into their house. If they took one look at his room they would flip out. He had always avoided bringing them in; his excuse was always a formal party his mother was hosting.

“Probably,” Dimmock agreed, they laughed and Mycroft put out his cigarette when the morning bell rung. It was sunny today, a change from the day before and Mycroft walked confidently through the doors, Dimmock at his side.

“I’ll see you at lunch,” He said to Dimmock before turning and walking away. Hundreds of voices echoed through the halls and bounced in his head, he tried to ignore them but they were faint whispers begging to be heard. Nonsense, utter nonsense, it seemed no one in this world was even worth talking to.

“You’re late,” The teacher said as Mycroft strolled in.

“Sorry sir,” He said apologetically as he sunk into the seat. He looked over to his right at the hooded figure sitting beside him. “Not feeling good mate?” He asked, unsure who it was. A pair of dark eyes peeked up at him and Mycroft’s eyes widened.

“Gregory?” He asked, shocked.

“Uh, yeah,” Greg replied, pulling his hat down lower.

“Oh god, are you okay?” Mycroft sat up and leaned closer, attempting to get a better look. Greg leaned back and coughed.

“Yeah, why, why would you ask?”

“Fuck,” Mycroft whispered when the sun hit Greg’s face. The boys’ eyes had sunk deep into his skull, one of them painted with a black ring. A deep gash on his cheek threatened to spill. “How’d that happen?” Mycroft asked.

“Nothing,” Greg replied defensively. “Nothing alright?”

“Oh, sorry, it just looks really bad,” Mycroft sat back in his seat but continued glancing back at Greg. Under the sun’s harsh glare Greg’s entire face glowed, but every curve seemed to sag. Someone had definitely gotten mad. Mycroft wondered who it was. The rest of the students didn’t seem too bothered but Mycroft was dying of his curiosity. When the bell rang he jumped up and picked up his bag. He waited patiently for Greg to pack up his stuff.

Shit.

Mycroft thought as he watched Greg. The boy’s movements were slow, purposefully slow, his entire body radiated his pain and Mycroft knew that beneath his clothes there were more bruises and cuts. He reached forward and helped Greg with his books.

“Here you go mate,” He said.

“Thanks,” Greg replied as he shouldered his bag. They walked out together. “Just because I’m hurt doesn’t mean you have to take pity and follow me around,” Greg said as he looked towards Mycroft, there was a bitterness to his words and Mycroft felt slightly hurt.

“Sorry,” The red head replied. “I won’t bother you,” He bowed his head and waved a good bye as he left.

“Were you talking to Greg?” Dimmock asked as Mycroft approached his friends.

“Yeah, why?” He asked curiously as he tossed his bag to the floor.

“He’s a fucking prick,” Dimmock pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one up.

“Did you see what happened to him?” Sally asked from behind Mycroft. Mycroft turned and looked at her.

“Yeah, seems painful, do you know how it happened?”

“Do we know how it happened?” Sally laughed and the other’s joined in.

“Myc we fucking did it to him,” Dimmock replied. The laughter died down and Mycroft was silent, he knew he shouldn’t scream or get mad, that wouldn’t pass over well. He was mad, a little, they had really tossed Greg over, but Mycroft stayed silent. While he didn’t’ really know Greg what they had done wasn’t right.

His friends went back to making jokes and laughing but Mycroft didn’t include himself, he was still a little shocked, he had known Dimmock could get violent but what had happened to Greg was more, Dim had never really hurt anyone without them asking for it. When their break ended and they returned to class Mycroft spotted Greg walking with his head down through the hallway. A sudden urge to apologize, even though it had not been his fault, flushed over him. He pushed through the crowd but after a few minutes, lost sight of Greg.

When the day ended Mycroft began the laborious walk home. Dimmock accompanied him part of the way but left after a little bit. Mycroft whistled lightly and when he approached his house began to walk up the pathway, he stopped, however, when he noticed a dark mark on the asphalt sidewalk. Blood, he knew, he could tell, he had studied blood in Chemistry a while ago, it was thick and extremely dark, but it was blood. It was Greg’s, that was obvious enough. Greg must have been walking home from school when he found them waiting outside the house.

The dry puddle wasn’t large, maybe the size of Mycroft’s shoe. He stared at it for a while in remorse; though he hadn’t had any part of it he felt faintly guilt. Greg’s condition had been bad, I mean really, really bad. Mycroft sighed and walked onwards past his house.

“Coming,” Greg’s voice was faint and far away. There was shuffling from the other side of the thin door and then it was open and Greg stood, his body obviously tired and weak. Mycroft looked the boy over and then met his eyes. “What do you want?” Greg asked as politely as he could.

“Could I come in?” Mycroft asked, looking behind Greg at the inside of the house. Greg nodded and opened the door for the red head. Suddenly he felt embarrassed, compared to Mycroft’s mansion of a house Greg’s abode was small and shabby.

“Um can I get you anything? I could make some tea,” Greg offered, he still wasn’t sure what Mycroft was doing here and was slightly worried that Mycroft’s friends were near.

“No…I came because I just wanted to apologize.”

“What?” Greg asked, he pressed a hand against the wall and leaned the pressure of his body onto the hand, he was growing tired and his bruises were sending dull waves of pain to his mind.

“I heard what happened,” Mycroft said, a little slowly. “I’m sorry about what my mates did, they’re all fucking arseholes, always drinking and shagging, I’m so sick of them. Really, I am sorry,” Mycroft finished. Greg was silent and for a minute Mycroft wondered if the boy would reply

“Thanks,” Greg said awkwardly. They were both silent and Mycroft wondered if this was his cue to leave, he had said what he needed to, and then he caught a glimpse of something sitting atop the coffee table.

“Is that…is that a BMW Classic?” Mycroft asked as he walked towards the model.

“Yeah,” Greg replied. “Careful, don’t touch it, it’s an antique.”

“It’s beautiful,” Mycroft whispered, admiring the piece.

“You think that’s cool, come here,” Greg said, he pushed off the wall painfully and walked towards his room, Mycroft following, when Greg pushed open the door Mycroft gasped.

“Oh my god,” The red head walked in and stood before the huge display of car models. “This is mad,” Mycroft said. Mycroft looked around the room, it was in a bit of a mess and Greg blushed lightly at a few shirts he had left on the floor. Mycroft caught sight of a shirt that had a few specks of blood and dirt on it. They were silent and Mycroft looked away.

“I’m a huge fan of cars,” Greg said, walking in to join Mycroft.

“I can tell,” Mycroft looked back at the cars. From the corner of his eyes he caught sight of a few red stained tissues in the bin and the still open medical emergency box on the desk. Greg closed it and tucked it away in a drawer. “This is really amazing, I mean your collection is bloody brill.”

“Thanks,” Greg replied shyly. He felt proud, no one had ever cared about his collection, and come to think of it no one had really seen his collection besides his mother, who thought it was a toy collection.

“I actually have to run, but thanks for letting me in,” Mycroft said as he turned to face Greg. The boy smiled sincerely. Mycroft looked him over again and shook his head. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, what they did…it was wrong.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Greg looked down at his feet. Mycroft walked out of the room and Greg followed him to the door.

“Bye then, see you tomorrow at school,” Mycroft said, turning around.

“Bye,” Greg replied, he began to close the door when Mycroft’s voice interrupted his action.

“Actually…” 

Greg opened the door again. 

“Tomorrow there’s a car auction that my dad got me tickets to, I have two and I was going to take…a friend,” Mycroft avoided saying Dimmock’s name. “But I figure none of them would really enjoy it or understand, so I was wondering if maybe,” Mycroft cleared his throat. “You would like to go with me?”

Greg hesitated for a moment.

“I probably shouldn’t…” Greg began.

“As friends, of course,” Mycroft added. Greg paused, considering the offer. “It’ll be my final way of apologizing, and there will be more than a few models of Impalas, including the ’67 one.”

“You had me at Impala,” Greg replied, grinning. Mycroft reached into his bag and pulled out a white paper, he handed it to Greg.

“Great, it’s tomorrow at 6:00, should I pick you up?” Mycroft asked.

“Um yeah, if you could,” Greg replied, a little ashamed he had no car to drive in.

“No problem,” Mycroft replied with a smile. “I’ll see you then.” Then he turned and walked down the pathway to the street.


	5. It's a secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow hey.

Mycroft stayed true to his promise and arrived at 6:00 sharp. Greg had debated on what he would wear and upon informing his mother of his plan, was forced to wear a suit. With a bow tie. When Mycroft pulled up in front of Greg's house he laughed as Greg opened the door.

"I know, I look like an idiot," Greg said sourly as he entered the posh Volkswagen. Mycroft looked at the younger boy.

"No, you look great, I mean really good," Mycroft turned and face the road. He pulled out of the driveway.

During the ride they discussed their favorite cars and the cars that had amazing older models but terrible new models. Mycroft laughed at the way Greg defended the Impala.

"It is a splendid car, just not one of the best," remarked Mycroft.

"You can shut your git, the Impala is a classic," said Greg huffily. Mycroft grinned in response. "I don’t get it, this is not how people usually react to my obsession with cars," said Greg.

"And how do people usually react?" Mycroft mused.

"They usually think I'm a freak of some sort."

They were both silent.

"That's why I don't really tell people," Mycroft replied, surprisingly honest. Greg nodded.

"So your friends don't know?"

"My friends don't know me at all," Mycroft laughed humorlessly. Greg was silent, unsure how to respond. "What about you?"

"What about me? "

"I mean, who are your good friends?" Mycroft asked. Greg didn't want to respond, he didn't really want to say it out loud.

"Don't really have anyone I'm close to either." Greg said delicately, he didn't want to admit the harsh truth; he had no friends.

They rode in a content silence after that and though Greg had not said it Mycroft knew what he had meant.

"So are they really your friends? These people you hang out with? I mean if they don't really know you why hang out with them at all?" Greg asked curiously, he was prying.

Mycroft shrugged and Greg nodded. They both turned to face the front and didn't talk.

"I'm sorry," Greg said as Mycroft parked the car.

"What for?" Mycroft asked.

"Asking you why you hang out with your friends, that was too personal," Greg said.

"No it's fine," Mycroft cut the engine. Greg turned his head and looked at the red head.

"No really, I'm sorry. But... I guess I understand why you do it."

"And why is that?" Mycroft smiled.

"Because you get lonely."

Mycroft stopped smiling and stared forward. He was right, Greg knew, because Greg knew what it was like to be lonely.

Both of them climbed out of the car.

"Blimey, this is fancy." Greg said as they neared the main entrance.

"Yeah, the Hudson's don't do things halfway," Mycroft replied.

"Hudson's?" Greg asked.

"Family friends," replied Mycroft. "Gregory, I hope you don't mind me introducing you as my...er...partner." Greg looked over at Mycroft incredulously.

"I'm your partner?" Greg asked, perhaps too loudly.

"Unfortunately this is a couples only event and I had forgotten to tell you. Don't worry too much, we'll just have to walk in like this," Mycroft reached and linked his arm with Greg's. Greg pulled back a little but after a moment relaxed.

"I guess that's alright, as long as we don't have to kiss or anything."

"Oh don't worry about that," Mycroft replied. "This is just for the entrance."

"Names?" The guard with a clipboard inquired when they approached.

"Holmes and Lestrade," Mycroft replied. Greg looked a little surprisingly at Mycroft, he hadn't known anyone who had ever bothered to remember his first name, much less his last.

"Alright, you'll be escorted in," the man gestured to a young pretty woman. She smiled in greeting and pointed forward, her protruding breasts leaned in towards Greg's direction, then she turned and they followed. Greg shifted uncomfortably at the flirtation and caught Mycroft watching him.

"What?" Greg asked politely.

"Just, for a straight young male you didn't seem at all interested at her suggestion, " Mycroft whispered as they followed the girl.

Greg shrugged. "Not really bothered?" He offered. He himself wasn't sure either.

The woman stopped in front of an open wooden door.

"Right through here," she said, leading both the boys in.

"Oh my god," Greg whispered as they walked in. The hall was large, so large a football match could have been held easily inside. Hundreds of well-dressed women and men mingled in groups but Greg could pay attention only to the cars on gleaming rotating platforms. Dozens of cars scattered in blinding beauty.

Mycroft grinned at Greg's reaction.

"I thought you would say that. I've been to a couple of these but every time I find myself in shock," Mycroft tugged Greg forward with his linked arm. Greg flinched slightly at the pressure Mycroft applied on one of his bruises.

Under Mycroft Greg was stiff, the boy’s arms laced with thick muscles and Mycroft was pleasantly surprised, he hadn't had Greg down as one to work out.

"This is incredible," Greg whispered, leaning towards Mycroft. Mycroft laughed lightly.

"The Impalas are over there," Mycroft pulled extremely lightly on Greg, this time mindful of his injuries. Greg followed.

"Mycroft!" A voice called. Mycroft turned and smiled politely. The elderly woman walked towards them and gave Mycroft a small hug.

"Wonderful to see you and your...."

"Boyfriend," Mycroft finished with a slightly apologetic glance at Greg. It was odd that Greg didn't seem to mind the title; it flowed naturally from Mycroft's lips.

"Ah, of course, welcome..."

"Gregory," Mycroft finished for Mrs. Hudson. Greg held back a genuine smile at the slight delight Mycroft's remembrance of his name brought.

"Wonderful to meet you," Mrs. Hudson gave Greg a small hug.

"A pleasure," Greg smiled at the small woman.

"We must be off, my dear Greg is a such a fan of the Impalas and if I leave him waiting any longer he'll kill me," Mycroft said as he looked at Greg.

"Of course, you boys have your fun, just be careful," Mrs. Hudson said, she smiled once more then turned and went off to talk to other guests.

My dear Greg. My dear Greg. My dear…Greg.

Greg rolled the words around in his mind. He wasn't sure what was so personal about them, but they lingered in his head like an old lullaby a mother sung to her child or like the beginnings of a fairytale a child was read every night, something old and something yours.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Mrs. Hudson is hard to convince," Mycroft looked at Greg and the boy shrugged.

"I don't really mind," Greg said. He didn't, he might even have enjoyed it.

"Good," Mycroft smiled. "Dimmock would have been disgusted."

Greg wasn't sure how he felt about being compared to Dimmock, but he smiled at the pure delight that Mycroft had hinted on the fact that he would rather have spent this evening with Greg than with Dimmock.

They toured the hall and Greg gasped and found himself speechless more than occasionally. Whenever Greg hyperventilated over a certain model Mycroft would laugh and Greg would blush.

Cars were auctioned throughout the night and by 2:30 Greg was yawning every few minutes.

"Would you like to leave?" Mycroft asked. Greg looked over the sea of cars and people and found himself at an odd peace, he didn’t want to leave but he thought of his mother at home, with the doors locked and her worry biting her anxiously.

“Yes, we should leave,” Greg turned to Mycroft, his hands tucked neatly in his trouser pockets. Mycroft reached forward.

“If you wear a bow tie it can never be crooked, consider that lesson number one,” Mycroft said as he straightened Greg’s tie. Greg chuckled and Mycroft smiled.

When Mycroft’s car pulled up in front of Greg’s house, the younger boy turned to Mycroft.

“Thanks for a brilliant night,” Greg said. “I really enjoyed myself, I’ve never been to a car auction and it was more than fantastic it was…” Greg thought for a moment, the champagne had dulled his mind and he was at loss for words. Mycroft laughed loudly.

“Alright, I get it, you had fun, now get out I’ve got to go home too,” Mycroft watched Greg sigh and undo his seat belt. Before getting out Greg turned once more, his movements were ungraceful and clumsy.

“Did I say thank you?”

Mycroft laughed again and shook his head.

“I’d better drop you off or you’ll fall and break your head somewhere along the way,” Mycroft got out of the car and met the chilly air of the night sky. He walked over to the other end and helped Greg out of the car. “Never had much to drink before, huh?” Mycroft asked. Half an hour ago Greg had been normal and the alcohol had only hit him now. Mycroft wondered if he had ever been like this.

“No, not really, I don’t go out much,” Greg leaned on Mycroft and they walked towards the door. Mycroft was surprised at how much Greg weighed and was fully aware of the stiffness of the younger boy’s chest as it pressed against his shoulder.

“Do you go out ever?”

“No, people don’t like me much,” Greg admitted. They approached the door and Greg pulled out his key. He attempted fitting it into the lock but his hands couldn’t seem to find it. Mycroft took the key from him and pushed it in.

“Why is that?” He asked as he helped the other teen into the house.

“I’m weird and I don’t really like girls or partying or anything,” Greg muttered, he was beginning to lose consciousness.

“You don’t really like girls?” Mycroft asked as he shut the door behind him.

“Nah, girls are dumb.”

Mycroft chuckled and nodded in agreement.

“You have me there,” He said, they walked down the hall and Mycroft attempted silence but Greg’s footsteps were loud thumps. “Do you like anyone?” Mycroft asked.

“Mmhmm,” Greg replied. Mycroft reached forward and opened the door to Greg’s room. “I liked this one guy but shhh it’s a secret, I don’t like to think about it, it makes me feel weird,” Greg raised his fingers to his lips.

Mycroft looked at Greg with new eyes. In denial, Mycroft realized, just like he had been a few years ago.

“Alright, you tosser, I’ll keep your secret, now get in bed,” Mycroft gently put Greg down and pulled off the boy’s shoes. Then he reached out and covered Greg’s body with the blanket. “Good night,” He whispered to the already snoring boy.

When he left he shut the house door and locked it, slipping the key in the mail slot. The red head returned to his warm car and sighed as he brought it back to life. When he reflected on the night as he put himself to sleep he felt good, like he had finally enjoyed himself, like he had gone to a theme park and finally chosen a ride he enjoyed after suffering through dozens of nauseating roller coasters. The feeling put him at peace and gave him a rare tranquil slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You read it all! I applaud and I thank you for your awesomeness.


	6. Changes are made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been super super busy so sorry for the delay! Thanks for your comments :) Hope you enjoy this chapter.

“So how was your night?” Grace asked when Greg joined her at the table. She sipped her milk as she read the newspaper.

“Really great, it was…fun,” Greg said, he could go into details but his mother didn’t care nor would she understand, so he spared her the rest.

“That’s nice…I didn’t know you…” Grace coughed. “You had a boyfriend,” She finished. Greg choked on some of his orange juice and put it down before more spilled. He coughed for about a minute before he could talk.

“No, no mum I’m not, he’s not my boyfriend,” Greg said when he could finally speak. He cleared his throat again and looked up at his mother.

“Oh…alright, if you say so,” Grace replied. She returned to her newspaper and Greg watched her curiously. She hadn't seemed mad, nor had she seemed affected at all, awkward, sure, but not by much. It dawned on him that perhaps his mother didn't mind gays or bis.

“Would you have minded?” Greg asked out of curiosity, his mother had never shown anything against homosexuality before, in fact Greg had a cousin that had come out and Grace had taken well to the news.

“No, not at all…you know you can tell me if you are…you can tell me anything,” Grace said quickly. Greg chewed on his food for a few moments.

“Do you think I am?”

Grace looked up and pursed her lips.

“I have my suspicions,” She said. Greg pondered what might have led to his mother’s 'suspicions'.

"I'm not," Greg said. He thought back to any time he might have indicated he was. Grace looked up and was silent for a moment before nodding. When his breakfast was downed and his plate cleaned he kissed his mother goodbye and headed off.

Greg walked out of his house and into the chilly air of England. He breathed out and breathed in once more before continuing on his walk. It was a few minutes of freezing cold torture before he neared the Holmes’ mansion. This time, the Impala had been replaced with a model of the BMW. Greg kicked at a stray beer can and remembered all of the events of last night. He regretted drinking that champagne, he regretted all the things he had said in his drugged state, and he remembered it all, Mycroft helping him to his room, putting him to bed, talking to him while they walked into the house, it was slightly blurry but his memory served him finely.

“Alright?” He heard a voice call from behind him. Greg turned and faced a smoothly walking Mycroft.

“Yeah, you?” Greg asked as he waited for Mycroft to catch up to him.

“Good, I got home pretty late last night and my mum was a little mad but it’s fine,” Mycroft said. When the red head caught up they walked together at a sluggish pace.

“I don’t think my mum noticed,” Greg said, he was blushing out of memory of what they had talked about and Mycroft could see the red that licked Greg’s cheek.

Mycroft laughed.

“Why are you blushing?” Mycroft asked, even he had noticed Greg's tendencies.

“I don’t know, I blush a lot,” Greg lied. He did blush a lot, but he did also know why he was blushing. He gulped a thick mass of saliva and thought for a moment. “The things I said last night, you won’t…repeat them…will you?” Greg asked. Just the thought sent him into a shrieking embarrassment and he longed to curl up and shrivel into a little ball that could never be seen, especially with the way Mycroft was watching him.

“That you’re—”

“Yes,” Greg finished, he wasn’t sure of it himself, he wasn’t sure of any of it and he hadn’t thought about it in months but the memories and the stirrings of emotions were fresh as though he had felt them yesterday. Greg stared forward, well aware that Mycroft was looking at him.

“Yeah, of course, no…no problem,” Mycroft said. “Do you…do you want to talk about it?” Mycroft asked delicately.

“No, not really,” Greg said, attempting nonchalance, but his demeanor was weak and his patience wearing thin.

“Alright,” Mycroft replied. They walked silently for a few minutes and Greg wondered how Mycroft would have finished that sentence.

_That you’re gay?_

_That you’re bisexual?_

_That you’re into guys?_

_That you’re in denial?_

Greg pondered hundreds of different endings but he wasn’t sure which Mycroft would have used, he wasn’t sure what he was either. He didn’t like to think too much about it, he just liked to call himself straight but not interested and be done with it.

When they neared school Mycroft looked almost regretfully at Greg.

“I have to go meet my friends, they’ll be mad if I don’t…” Mycroft began. Greg waved him off.

“Yeah no problem, I’ll just go inside,” Greg said as he walked forward.

“Alright, see you later,” Mycroft turned and began walking off.

“Yeah see you later,” Greg replied. When Greg was alone he exhaled, relieved the encounter had been short. He enjoyed Mycroft’s company but the topic had made him uncomfortable. Greg thought back to when he had laid in bed and thought of the boy, John, and the things they would have done…and the way it had made Greg feel. Greg remembered how his pants had tightened just a little when John had walked in. It was all clear to him, the way Greg’s stomach had turned nervously at the thought of John. He blushed even remembering.

But then Greg thought of the small stomach turns he had experienced last night, when Mycroft leaned in towards Greg to whisper something, or when Mycroft’s hands had brushed his shirt as they straightened his bow tie. Greg shook the thoughts away; it was all hormones, raging teen hormones.

In IB Bio Greg sat gently in his seat, his bruises had turned a sort of purple color, and his black eye had gone from a yellow circle to a darker brown one. He had worn a cap in front of his mother and he pulled that cap lower still, not that any of his classmates were bothered.

Greg could tell when Mycroft entered, Mycroft’s presence was a strong one, and his friends were rather noisy. Greg allowed himself a small peek in Mycroft direction and found the red head already looking at him. Mycroft smiled and Greg smiled in return, a sort of “hello” in smiles.

Greg went back to the work he had laid out in front of him. Since his lab was finished he had this class and the next to do as he pleased. Upon returning home so late Greg hadn’t finished studying for an exam he had today.

“You, take off that cap, I don’t want you wearing that utter rubbish in my classroom, understand?” Greg’s teacher had somehow snuck up on Greg and now stood towering above the brunette teen.

“Yes sir,” Greg replied, he pulled off the cap and kept his face down, attempting to hide himself. His teacher walked off and he hoped no one else had noticed. The cut on his face had scabbed over terribly loudly, it stood out on his face like a tattoo. Without his cap on Greg felt somewhat naked.

On the other end of the classroom, Mycroft had watched the even take place, it still gave him a queasy feeling, picturing what his “friends” had done to Greg. He liked Greg, Greg was the first person who’s company he had genuinely enjoyed, and the way they had beat him was unjustified. Mycroft grew slightly angry just imagining it. He looked away from Greg before Greg noticed him staring.

Class droned on for an excruciatingly long time. Mycroft listened to his friends as they talked about last night’s party in extravagant details. When the bell rang and Mycroft’s friends walked out before him, the red head turned around to catch a glimpse of Greg, maybe to say a quick bye. Greg was walking over, hands in his pockets, Mycroft nodded his goody bye and Greg gave a small smile in return, then Mycroft rejoined his group, not that they noticed his absence.

Mycroft had never truly felt as tortured in his friends’ company as he did now, they stood about with lit cigarettes and talked of things that were completely nonsensical and Mycroft rolled his eyes at every wrongly phrased or utterly foolish remark made, and Mycroft found himself rolling his eyes a lot. When it was time to leave Mycroft was relieved.

“You alright?” Dimmock asked when they were alone.

“Yeah, why do you ask?” Mycroft questioned, he tried to act nonchalant but Dimmock was suspicious.

“I dunno, you seem different. Where were you last night?”

“Car auction, my mum and dad dragged me along,” Mycroft lied blatantly.

“Oh,” Dimmock said in reply. “Are you coming to the party at Baker’s tonight?”

Mycroft thought for a moment, he didn’t want to go, he wanted to stay home and talk to…anyone but this gang, the parties they went to didn’t satisfy him so he shook his head.

“Not feeling good, I think I drank a bit too much champagne last night,” Mycroft lied again. He didn’t feel guilty, Dimmock had lied over worse.

Dimmock laughed and shoved Mycroft.

“Course you would drink while your parents were right there,” Dimmock’s laugh faded into a chuckle. “Well, we’ll see you at the next party then,” Dimmock waved and turned to leave.

“Yeah, sure,” Mycroft replied. He dreaded the encounter already.


	7. Can I borrow a cup of flour?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm taking so long uploading these! I have the next few written out though :) Enjoy!

“Are you kidding mum?” Greg groaned, he was in socks and sweat pants while he trudged hopelessly around the house with nothing in particular to do.

“No, and it’s imperative that this cake is baked,” Grace picked up the measuring cup and turned to her son. “So you are going to our neighbor and asking for a cup of flour,” Grace put it in his hands. Greg groaned.

“Social encounters,” He grumbled as he took the cup. Grace smiled and kissed her son on the cheek.

“Now off you go, I’ll be waiting here so hurry up,” Grace strolled out of the room and Greg heard the TV come on. He shuffled to his own room and slipped on a pair of jeans then began to load himself with winter clothing, slipping first a sweater on then a thick coat and shoes.

“I’ll be back mum,” He said as he closed the door behind him. Greg walked to the house beside his and upon looking at it at once decided no, he wasn’t going to go in. The house wasn’t exactly a sight for sore eyes. It’s paint peeled off and it’s grass a field of brown dirt. Instead Greg walked on, he looked up at the grey clouds forming above and decided yes, it would snow soon, maybe tonight or tomorrow.

Mycroft’s house towered dangerously high. Greg had walked past it every day to get to school but he hadn’t necessarily noticed anything particularly striking about it. Now that he was facing it the house gave him a different air, one of sophistication and class. The gentle white it was painted in felt like a soothing song. Greg trudged up the steps of the front porch and stood in front of the intricately carved wooden door. It was clearly mahogany and Greg guessed so was everything else wooden in side. It seemed that the Holmes’ couldn’t even have cheap wood. Nonetheless Greg reached out and pressed the doorbell lightly. It rung inside the house, no, not rung…chimed. Like a beautiful young bird. Greg resisted rolling his eyes at the amount of attention that had been paid on making this entire house perfect. The door opened and a fairly tall, thin boy stood in front of him. He looked at Greg once and, with the door ajar, retreated back into the house. Greg stood for a moment in sheer confusion before the boy returned, his thick black curls bouncing as he moved.

“A moment,” He said. Then he was gone in a mysteriously quick movement. Greg waited before Mycroft himself strolled to the door. Greg smiled involuntarily at the sight of him.

“Gregory,” Mycroft greeted the boy. “How can I help you?” The red head slipped his hands into his pockets.

Greg held up the measuring cup and Mycroft sighed.

“Of course, a classic neighbor move…I don’t know why I expected anything else. What would you like me to fill that up with?”

Greg looked down slightly embarrassed. 

“Some flour.”

Mycroft nodded and gestured for Gregory to follow him. Stepping into the house was like opening an extremely descriptive book of an elaborate ballroom or palace. The hall glittered with glass sculptures, chandeliers, candleholders, lamps and a carpet that left Greg placid. He stifled a gasp but his eyes betrayed him and Mycroft chuckled when he looked back.

“My mother does so like to decorate.”

Greg nodded.

“I can see,” His head ached from turning so as not to miss anything that embellished the otherwise tedious house.

“James the chef, my friend here would like a cup of flour,” Mycroft said as they entered the kitchen. A hassled looking elderly man glanced up at Mycroft. He huffed, his already round stomach protesting on further movement.

“Alright,” James the chef trotted over to a cupboard and sifted through before pulling out an expensive looking box of flour. Greg put the cup down in front of him and James the chef poured till the cup threatened to overflow. Greg smiled a thank you and James the chef turned to put the flour back.

“Good enough for you?” Mycroft asked. Greg looked down and shrugged.

“Looks about enough,” He replied. Mycroft chuckled and they left the kitchen. On the way back to the main door Greg tapped Mycroft’s shoulder lightly.

“Actually…could I see your room?” He asked. Mycroft turned and raised his eyebrows.

“My room?” Mycroft sounded reasonably surprised at the request.

“You did get to see mine,” Greg reminded the red head. Mycroft sighed and narrowed his eyes for a moment before agreeing.

“Alright,” He said. Greg grinned at the improvement on his otherwise substandard convincing skills. The brunette followed Mycroft as he turned and walked in a different direction. The house was a maze and Greg swallowed at how intimidating it seemed. They reached a large display of marble steps with flamboyant patterns on the rail. Mycroft turned back to check that Greg was still there behind him.

“I’m on the second floor,” Mycroft said as they begun to climb.

“I’ve always wanted a two story house,” Greg admitted. His mother had not fared well when it came to money. She had, and still was, saving up money for Greg to go to college (though she clearly hoped he would receive a scholarship) and the rest had been spent on food and rent and clothing. Greg had taken part time jobs to bring in money as well.

“I’ve always wanted a one story house,” Mycroft admitted. They exchanged a glance and Greg looked away thinking how shockingly real the quote “you want what you can’t have” really is. It reminded Greg of a scene from an amazing Tom Cruise movie he had seen and forgotten the name of.

They reached the final step and the floor above was carpeted. Greg’s shoes sunk into it as he walked towards a simple wooden door that was, surprisingly, not mahogany. Mycroft looked once at Greg before opening the door and standing aside for Greg to go in first.

It was a standard room and for that reason Greg was most surprised. It was like walking into a very expensive and classy clothing store of some designer brand and finding out they also sold decent looking shoes from a less prestigious store. It was like finding a delicious lollipop in a café of only cakes and coffees.

Greg walked in slowly and looked around. Along one wall a row of cupboards were lined, it was a square room, and on another wall windows taller than Greg exposed bright daylight. Greg turned and looked at the dark brown, mahogany of course, desk. Above it on a display board were drawings. Greg walked closer to them and when he stood right in front, he gasped.

They were beautiful, elaborate yet simple, dark yet light, they were balanced and they were only sketches of cars and buildings and things he had never seen in his life. Greg looked at each drawing individually but they one upped each other, he was unable to properly tell which one was best simply because they were all so marvelous they drowned out each other’s marvel and collaged into a hub of art. Greg looked at Mycroft, whom stood now beside Greg.

“These are…” Greg trailed off, looking for the right word. “Remarkable, amazing!”

Mycroft smiled halfheartedly.

“Hm. I’ve never thought so myself. Art is a hobby of mine.”

“I had no idea you could draw,” Greg turned to face him, cup of flour still in hand.

“Well, I will admit I was slightly worried what you would think,” Mycroft said. Greg looked shocked.

“Why would you ever doubt that I would be amazed, these are incredible,” Greg replied. 

“No one’s ever seen them before, so I suppose I had no reviews to rely myself.”

Greg looked even more shocked.

“No one? Absolutely no one?” Greg asked. Mycroft shook his head. “Not even your mother?” 

Mycroft shook his head again.

“This is raw talent how could you hide it?”

Mycroft shrugged.

“No one’s interested,” He answered simply.

“Well, I beg to differ,” Greg turned and continued looking at them.

“You would be the first,” Mycroft turned as well and began pacing the room slowly.

“And what about your friends?” Greg asked, turning and leaning on the desk.

“They haven’t seen these either, and can’t I classify you as my friend?” Mycroft stopped walking. Greg hesitated for a moment, he wasn’t sure when you breached the level of acquaintance and entered friendship.

“I suppose we are,” Greg replied. “So one of your friends has seen it, why not any of the others?”

“Have you been around them? I don’t suspect they would take kindly to this nurturing womanly like hidden part of me.

“Womanly like? Art isn’t feminine. Art is just art, it’s for whomever gets pleasure from it,” Greg picked up a few half completed sketches lying on the desk.

“That’s what I like about you, I’ve never met anyone so…collected, so accepting of this,” Mycroft gestured to the room.

“Of your bedroom?” Greg asked stupendously.

“No, of who I am,” Mycroft walked toward Greg. “You are the first person, of my age, to see me as I am and to not seem to mind it.”

Greg shrugged.

“We’re slightly similar, so I suppose if I didn’t like you it would mean I didn’t like myself,” Greg replied. He thought that over for a minute and realized it was wrong, he hadn’t ever liked himself yet he liked Mycroft.

“Interesting,” Mycroft replied. They stood across each other now. “Anything else you would like to see?” Mycroft asked. Greg perused the room, looking at the bed, the lamps, the carpet and other furniture.

“It’s a really nice room, I wish I could have it, it’s…peaceful,” Greg said. He looked towards Mycroft.

“Oddly enough I’ve always found your home comforting. Small in the kindest of ways.”

Greg considered this and again was reminded by that amazing Tom Cruise movie he’ll have to go search up as soon as possible. Then Greg was reminded of the flour cup in his hand and it’s purpose.

“I should go…my mum will be pissed if I come late, I was supposed to stop at the neighbors but I skipped a house instead and she won’t think to check here if she looks for me,” Greg said. Mycroft nodded and, with one last look at the room, left.

While they were walking back Mycroft looked towards Greg.

“What made you change your mind?” Mycroft asked.

“Change my mind about what?”

“About skipping a house instead of visiting your actual neighbors?” 

Greg thought for moment and decided on dismissing the truth.

“It looked perfect for a crime scene,” He said nonchalantly. Mycroft laughed in reply and Greg smiled.

The truth had been a mix of the two; Greg had been curious, and Greg had wanted to talk to Mycroft again.


	8. Comradeship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AH Im so sorry I take so long to update :( School sucks??? Thats really the only excuse I have. Sorry!

“Mycroft!” Greg called out.

“Greg?” Mycroft turned around to face the boy. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Greg replied, catching up to where Mycroft stood. The two were walking home and had made a habit recently of walking to and fro school together. Usually, however, Greg would catch Mycroft on the way back from school a little while later. Greg had taken note of their odd situation. As friends they wanted to talk to each other, be around each other…but Mycroft had other friends, friends Greg couldn’t be associated with, friends Greg knew Mycroft had to keep. Because Greg respected this and didn’t question it he kept away from Mycroft in public.

“Good to see you too,” Mycroft said as they walked leisurely beside each other. “How’s your mother?” He asked.

Greg looked from the corner of his eyes towards Mycroft.

“Fine,” He replied. It occurred to him then that he didn’t really know Mycroft’s parents, nor did he know his family. “How’s your family?”

Mycroft laughed.

“Would they be anything but good? My mothers ecstatic over a new set of furniture she’s purchasing a long with an extension to the house she’s planning,” Mycroft rolled his eyes and Greg whistled.

“You have a brother too, right?”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft replied, slightly bitterly, Greg noted.

“I’ve heard of him…I’ve heard he’s a bit of a…erm…”

“A sod?” Mycroft offered. Greg laughed and nodded.

“Something like that,” Greg turned his head to look at Mycroft. “Do you think he’s like that?” Mycroft paused for a moment and thought.

“I think Sherlock tries hard to annoy people, but as his brother I know another side of him. A less…harsh side,” Mycroft replied.

“I have a brother, he’s in college though,” Greg replied.

“Oh really?” Mycroft’s eyebrows went up slightly in interest.

“Yeah, but he’s my half brother,” Greg said.

“Oh,” Mycroft replied, unsure of what to say. They walked in silence for a bit. “Are you fond of him?”

Greg shook his head and for a moment couldn’t respond, he remembered his brother and his jaw tightened. Mycroft’s quiet eyes noticed the response, like they noticed everything, but he didn’t pry.

“No,” Greg managed. Mycroft nodded in understanding. “I’ve never actually met Sherlock…do you think you could introduce us?” Greg asked. Mycroft smiled lightly.

“I don’t think you want to,” He said honestly. Greg shook his head.

“Doesn’t matter what other people say, I’d like to meet him myself.”

Mycroft sighed at Greg’s persistence.

“Alright, but you asked for it,” Mycroft warned.

-

Sherlock opened the door with an unpleasant expression. His glare flickered from Greg to Mycroft, he narrowed them slightly and Mycroft knew immediately what Sherlock was thinking.

“Sherlock, this is Gregory,” Mycroft said carefully. Sherlock took a pause to absorb Greg.

“Why do I care?” He asked Mycroft. Mycroft gave Sherlock a stern glare.

“Because, Gregory’s my friend.”

Sherlock was silent and clearly still unpleased, but he stepped aside and Mycroft and Gregory walked in.

“I’m busy,” Sherlock said quickly.

“No problem, we won’t bother you—” Mycroft began.

“What are you working on?” Greg intervened. Sherlock sighed in frustration and Mycroft groaned inwardly.

“A lab experiment on the function and cellular reproduction of stem cells in brains to attempt healing other organs with damaged cells that are unable to function and could, potentially, lead to the victims death,” Sherlock said, quite quickly as well, although Greg felt like he added the speed to confuse who he was talking to.

“I studied stem cell research for a year and a half before realizing it was pointless. The ethical and moral issues on it are too racy, regardless of how life changing your findings may be there’s no way it will be of any use,” Greg replied. Mycroft looked slightly surprised and so did Sherlock, even though what Gregory had said wasn’t impressive in the least.

“You studied it for a year and a half?” Mycroft asked.

“Yes, until they caught me sneaking in school to use the lab equipment for my research,” Greg said, sounding remorseful.

“Well, I’ve got every single lab equipment you could possibly need,” Sherlock took a moment as if to summon strength to say the next words. “You could temporarily use some of it...under supervision at ALL times.”

Mycroft gaped and Greg’s eyebrows shot up.

“Seriously?” He asked, more surprised than grateful.

“I suppose so. But there are rules, many rules, and you could be of use for my research,” Sherlock said, he turned on his heel. “The lab is this way, follow me.”

Greg and Mycroft looked at each other, equally surprised. Greg rushed forward to keep up with Sherlock’s long strides and Mycroft did the same.

“The microscope’s on this end, the Petri dishes are stacked here, the tubes are here, the brushes for the tubes are here, the goggles, which I don’t require but recommend be used, are over here,” Sherlock began the tour as soon as Greg stepped in. The room was cold but Greg supposed that was for the best, he glanced around and sucked in sharp breaths occasionally in awe. Sherlock’s lips twitched upward in pride. “Mycroft, leave Gregory doesn’t need the distraction,” Sherlock said as he pointed Greg towards the stark white lab coats. Greg slipped one on and looked apologetically towards Mycroft.

Mycroft looked hesitantly at Greg before looking back at Sherlock. He sighed and then turned.

“You know he wouldn’t have been a distraction, right?” Greg said as soon as Mycroft had left. Sherlock look up in all seriousness.

“Yes he would most definitely would have proved to be a distraction…for you. Now put on your coat and goggles,” Sherlock turned hastily and began speaking. Gregory complied and joined Sherlock moments later.

-

“You’ve been out since 3!” Grace exclaimed. She shut the door behind Greg loudly. “You said you’d be back at maximum 6 it’s…” She looked down at her watch. “Nearly 8!”

“I’m sorry mum I just got…caught up,” Greg said as he yawned.

“Caught up in what, exactly?” Grace asked.

“Lab experiments,” Greg said nonchalantly.

“Oh god you’re not doing it at… at school are you?” Grace asked, anger momentarily forgotten.

“No mum, Sherlock, our neighbor, he offered to let me work in his lab,” Greg answered, turning around. Greg’s back ached from bending over and his eyes felt sore from the bright light of the microscopes.

“Alright,” Grace said hesitantly. She stood a moment longer silently and then nodded. “So long as you call me before you decide to spend the evening at their house,” She said. Greg nodded.

“Sure mum,” He said as he turned to leave. He walked into his room and dumped his bag on the floor. He was extremely tired and the thought of beginning work now made him want to groan. He decided he would wake up early tomorrow.

Greg bathed in steaming hot water and after a while, climbed out. When he caught sight of himself in the mirror he paused. His naked body was wet and dripping, but the water glistened on him like a coat of glazed sugar. Droplets dripped off him like tears and he sighed. His eye still held the faintest of a ring but otherwise he had recovered from his bruises and cuts. Though some of the cuts had scarred him, including the one on his cheek.

Greg reached out for a towel and covered himself. Before drying and changing he sat on his table and reached for a pen and paper. He hadn’t done this in a long time, doing it now felt good, like a chance to bleed from a cut that refused to spill.

_Dear you,_

_He began; entirely unsure of whom he was speaking to._

_I am clean, bathed of my faults. See the problem here is no longer myself, it is no longer the way I dress and talk and think, it is no longer myself. It is something bigger, something larger. I don’t know if people can open cuts and heal them but there are fingers helping me now. I’m not a broken jar but I am changed now, you see I am different. I am alone because alone protects me but doubt has infected me. Doubt accompanied with companionship, accompanied with laughter and the company of another. Comradeship, they say, saved the soldier of war. Not his helmet nor his trenches, but his men. Perhaps these words were lies to me before but now they seep in like water through the cracks of my shield._

_Doubt, you see, is a dangerous player, and I stand before it now, competing, fighting, but doubt is strong, and I fear I am losing to it._

_Sincerely,_   
_Gregory._

Greg tucked his paper away after folding it in one of his drawers. He slept that night knowing he would have to wake up early. He slept that night and dreamt of the sun.


	9. Laboratory Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AH im so terrible taking almost a month to post this chapter! I will admit I wavered a bit and I haven't written any in a while (SORRY!) but I will start again promise :) Enjoy!

Mycroft changed into his school uniform and was tying his tie when Sherlock knocked on his door.

“Mycroft?” His brother asked. Mycroft turned to glance at him.

“Yes Sherlock?” Mycroft replied. Sherlock didn’t bother his brother often and Mycroft figured this must be somewhat important. “What do you need?” Mycroft asked, assuming Sherlock wanted another pack of cigarettes.

“I wanted to ask you about Gregory,” Sherlock leaned against the doorframe.

“Lestrade?” Mycroft finished the knot he was working on. He straightened it and then shrugged on his sweater.

“Yes.”

“What would you like to know?” Mycroft asked, curious. He had most definitely been taken by surprise when Sherlock had allowed Greg to work with him. Sherlock was hostile and protective over his equipment.

“Well, Mrs. Hudson was over for tea yesterday and I overheard them talking. You introduced Greg as your partner?” Sherlock said pleasantly though his tone sounded mocking.

“That I did. It was a couples only event, I had to,” Mycroft lifted his bag and shouldered it.

“Lie. I saw the invitation. It was not a couples only event,” Sherlock smiled, clearly amused. Mycroft resisted giving Sherlock the reaction he wanted.

“There’s nothing wrong with pretending it’s a couples only event to see how a person will react,” Mycroft replied. He walked past Sherlock out of his room and towards the stairs.

“If you say so, Mycroft.” 

Mycroft could practically hear Sherlock’s cocky smile in his words.

“I advise you to keep your nose in your own business, brother. Eavesdropping is hardly polite,” Mycroft said as he turned his head to look once more at his brother, a glare to match the harsh tone of his voice. Then he descended the stairs and left his house.

Mycroft caught Greg leaning against a tree. Greg was chewing an apple silently as he waited. When he caught sight of the elder Holmes he swallowed and smiled.

“Morning,” He said. Mycroft nodded in reply.

“Good morning to you,” He replied calmly. In truth Mycroft was still shaken up. He had hoped Sherlock wouldn’t find out and now he worried that during their lab time Sherlock would let slip his little secret.

“How was your night?” Greg asked as they began the walk to their school.

“It was alright,” Mycroft replied. Mycroft had been out at a party, he had promised his friends he would attend it and the Holmes family always fulfilled their promises. Mycroft had scrubbed off any scent of alcohol or cigarettes this morning in the shower, he had noticed Greg’s dislike towards Mycroft’s tendencies and though Mycroft wouldn’t stop he would respect Greg’s unspoken request.

“Where did you go?” Greg asked, taking another bite of his apple. Mycroft didn’t want to tell Greg the honest truth but he didn’t want to lie either.

“It was a party,” Mycroft replied simply, hoping he need not elaborate. Greg nodded.

“I was with Sherlock in the lab till about 10,” Greg said when he had swallowed what he was chewing. Mycroft’s eyebrows shot up.

“I’m honestly surprised. I’ll have to say my brother isn’t one to share and especially for such a long duration. How did it go?” Mycroft asked. He was curious; he had always wondered what Sherlock would be like around other people.

“Pleasant enough,” Greg replied. Mycroft was taken aback. Those were never the words uttered by anyone that had spent long amounts of time with Sherlock. “He had a few extremely strict rules but we got along well and he seemed impressed at my knowledge. We’re meeting again after school today,” Greg said. Mycroft nodded, he had hoped to go somewhere with Greg after school considering he had no plans for the night but he supposed Greg would rather spend his time working.

“I suppose I’ll find a way to pass the time,” Mycroft said. Greg looked up at him.

“Did you have plans?” Greg asked.

“Well, I was hoping we could go somewhere today--” Mycroft began.

“I can cancel Sherlock,” Greg cut him off. Mycroft waved Greg away.

“Don’t bother,” Mycroft said. “Sherlock will be a lot stricter than me if you cancel a prescheduled appointment with him.”

“If you say so. But I would rather spend time with you than your brother,” Greg admitted, taking another bite. Mycroft hid his immediate surprise and pleasure.

“If you cut the lesson short today we could go somewhere,” Mycroft breathed out and watched his breath burst out in a cloud of smoke. It was getting colder by the day.

“I’ll do my best,” Greg said. He took another bite and chewed silently. Mycroft watched the boy out of the corner of his eyes. He hadn’t forgotten what Greg had said the night they had gone out. He hadn’t forgotten what Greg had told him to never repeat. He wondered if he could bring it up again. He hoped he could somehow help Greg with the obvious struggle the boy was having.

When they reached the school Greg bid Mycroft goodbye and walked in the building. Mycroft sighed and joined his friends in the “smoking lot”. For the first time in a long time, when he got there, he didn’t pull out a cigarette as well.

“Myc,” Dimmock greeted when he caught sight of the red head.

“Hello Dimmock,” Mycroft mumbled. He had stopped hiding his displeasure at meeting them, and they had long since stopped noticing.

“Did you come yesterday?” Dim asked.

“Yes, for a while. None of the recent parties are worth going to anymore. Not since john moved,” Mycroft dropped his bag on the floor and leaned against the wall. Sally voiced her agreement and Dim shushed her.

“You and your posh family have too high expectations,” Dimmock replied, blowing out smoke. Mycroft stopped himself from flinching at being called posh. He hated when people compared him to his parents. He was nothing like them.

“I suppose,” Mycroft said bitterly. Dimmock seemed to notice and perked one eyebrow up.

“Did you shag anyone?” The boy asked. Mycroft shook his head.

“Couldn’t find anyone. I did get a blow,” Mycroft lied. He had found lying to them as easy as breathing. Dimmock seemed oddly relieved.

“You haven’t been out in a while and you haven’t shagged either, we’ve all been kind of worried…you’re not yourself lately,” Dimmock said, taking another drag. Mycroft wanted to laugh; he had never been more himself. Instead he shrugged and remained silent. Dimmock watched him carefully before shrugging as well and continuing on with the conversation he was having.

After a while of interjecting occasionally but otherwise staying silent, Mycroft picked up his bag.

“It’s almost time to go,” He said. Dimmock picked up his stuff as well. On cue the bell rang loudly. Mycroft took off slowly and Dimmock walked next to him.

“You got any plans tonight?” Dimmock asked. Mycroft paused, he couldn’t tell Dimmock he had plans with Gregory, he couldn’t mention he even knew Gregory outside of school. Mycroft didn’t want to say no, he desperately didn’t want to because that meant an invitation to another party he would be forced to go to.

“Yes,” Mycroft said suddenly without much thought. Dimmock frowned.

“What you doing?” Dim asked suspiciously.

“Just…. another party at home,” Mycroft replied.

“You’ve been ditching those parties since you were 15, why can’t you do the same thing now?” Dimmock asked. His suspicion was growing and quite obviously at that. Mycroft wished he had just made a dash for class rather than walk with his friend.

“This one’s important, my dad needs me and Sherlock both at the house to represent the family. Dad’s starting a new partnership,” Mycroft replied, thinking off the top of his head. Dimmock nodded but looked unconvinced.

“Alright,” He said. Mycroft bid goodbye and hurried to his next class. Absentmindedly he slipped into the seat next to Greg.

They sat in silence while the teacher rambled on. Eventually, the lecture finished and they were each given sheets of instructions and told to pair up. In mutual agreement Greg and Mycroft turned to each other. They began reading the assignment, one that would need them to meet up after school. They decided today, instead of going out, Greg would come by, work with Sherlock in the lab and then with Mycroft. When class ended they walked out together. Greg was not sure whether to continue walking with Mycroft, or whether to leave and meet up with Mycroft later on. He didn’t want to face Dimmock and the rest of them and he certainly didn’t want any trouble for Mycroft. When Mycroft seemed fine with Greg beside him, the brunette relaxed and supposed that just this once he would keep going.

They successfully left the school without an encounter and reached Mycroft’s house in one piece.

“You’re late,” Sherlock said when they walked in. Greg nodded in apology.

“I’m sorry Sherlock,” Greg said. He glanced back and said goodbye to Mycroft before following Sherlock to the lab, the younger teen had already gathered some exciting information and was talking about it now.

They worked diligently for 3 hours before Greg stood up, his back aching. He had taken a break to call his mum and tell her he’d be late, still, she had seemed suspicious over what Greg would be doing. By the end of their session Sherlock seemed pleased. Greg looked over at Sherlock and raised an eyebrow.

“Do you do this everyday?” Greg asked. Sherlock glanced at him bitterly.

“Yes, do you have a problem?”

“No, I don’t I just…don’t you have any mates to hang out with?” Greg stammered. Sherlock paused and Greg thought the boy would be coming up with some witty remark but he breathed out and his face softened.

“Not really. But it’s not as though I’ve ever needed any,” Sherlock picked up a pair of tweezers and began picking at something in the dish as he spoke.

Greg nodded.

“Me neither. Your brother, he’s the first real friend I’ve had,” Greg was surprised himself at the honesty. Sherlock looked up.

“Interesting,” Sherlock paused “Pack up the Petri dishes before you leave,” Sherlock returned to his work. Greg knew the moment was over, he had been glad he had found some way to actually talk to Sherlock but he wasn’t expecting a late night confession. He hadn’t expected anything at all.

“Sherlock, what about that friend of yours, the one I see you with in school—”

“John,” Sherlock cut Greg off. It seemed to be a road Sherlock didn’t want to continue talking about; he had a ring of finality in his voice.

“Right. John,” Greg said as he pulled off his lab coat and hung it up. “Alright I’ll be upstairs with your brother, see you later,” Greg left the lab room but Sherlock hardly noticed.

The house was as much of confusion to him as it was the first time he had seen it. Greg blundered around in hopeless circles and caught himself staring in awe at pieces of furniture every so often. Eventually he stumbled upon the staircase he had climbed a few days before. He hurried up them, hoping he hadn’t spent too much time trying to find his way around. When he got to the top he took a right and found himself in front of Mycroft’s door. He picked up his hand to knock on the door and felt his stomach twirl slightly.

“Yes?” A voice called out from the other side when Greg knocked. Greg cleared his throat.

“It’s me,” Greg replied. Greg heard shuffling and then the door was open and Mycroft stood, in looser, less formal clothing.

“Hello Gregory, come inside,” Mycroft opened the door wider. Greg entered and took off his bag. Mycroft’s room still seemed to catch him off guard. Greg had never really seen anything embody a person’s personality so perfectly. Greg could practically feel Mycroft in the layout and look of it.

“So,” Greg said as he turned around to face the red head. Mycroft shut the door and turned to face Greg as well.

“I have a few ideas for our project,” Mycroft said, he walked to his desk where loose sheets of paper were laid out. Mycroft’s handwriting was more than perfect; his loops were shaped long and elegantly. Greg had heard a lot could be told about a person from the way they write. Greg had to say, Mycroft’s handwriting held personality in itself and Greg marveled at it for a moment. “What do you think?”

Greg looked up at Mycroft. He had been too busy looking at the writing to hear what Mycroft was saying. Greg opened his mouth to reply and just nodded.

“Sure…?” Greg offered. Mycroft laughed.

“You weren’t listening were you?”

Greg blushed and shook his head. Mycroft sighed as though he was annoyed but he was smiling.

“Alright, well, I was thinking…” Mycroft continued with his explanation. Greg listened tentatively and nodded in approval when Mycroft was done. They worked till the sky darkened and Greg hardly noticed he was beginning to grow short of time, he was captivated by Mycroft’s presence and in the raw enjoyment it kindled.


	10. Lunch, a movie, and a letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh God sorry sorry xCombo for all the wait and terrible frequency habits. Exams are almost over and school as well! I've got three new chapters lined up and I will put them up as I keep writing, which I hope I will do more of now! Again so sorry I've been having a rough time :( Thanks to those who commented, read, book marked, or kudos'd. I appreciate all of it! ^_^

“Is Gregory home?” Mycroft asked. Grace smiled sweetly. 

“Of course he is! Why don’t you come inside, it’s so cold out there you must be freezing,” Grace said as she ushered Mycroft in. The red head complied and removed his scarf and mufflers. 

“I’ll go get Gregory,” She said as she turned around. Mycroft sighed and examined his gloved hands until he heard soft footsteps pad towards him. 

“Hey Mycroft,” Gregory said, his hair was an utter mess, he stretched out his arms and yawned, one hand, elbow still facing upward, bent and ruffled his hair. “You’re a bit early today, what’s the matter?” Mycroft swallowed, Greg’s shirt was white and thin, and he couldn’t say he wasn’t slightly interested and intrigued by the skin revealed and the skin hidden. 

“I wanted to ask you something,” Mycroft’s eyes darted back up to Greg’s after they had flickered down and took in the rest of Greg. 

“Sure, come into the kitchen, though, I’m starving,” Gregory turned and Mycroft followed him. 

“Will you be eating anything?” Grace asked as she poured herself a cup of orange juice. Mycroft shook his head in response. 

“I ate, but thank you,” Mycroft said respectfully. 

“Alright, but if you get hungry just tell Gregory and he’ll whip something up for you,” Grace downed the rest of her juice and then leaned forward and kissed Greg’s cheek. “Call me if you need anything, I’ll be back around seven today.” Greg nodded as he opened a can of peanut butter. 

“Sure mum, have fun, love you,” Greg said. Grace picked up her keys and her bag. 

“Bye, love you too,” Then she shut the door behind her and was gone. Greg yawned again as he cut a slice of bread. Mycroft had overseen the entire event jealously. He had never traded the words “I love you” meaningfully with his parents. He had never so much as received a pat on the back and here Gregory was, his mother kissing his cheek lovingly just because she was leaving for work. Mycroft sighed. 

“Are you alright?” Greg asked, his eyes glancing up. Mycroft nodded. 

“Yes.” 

“Well, what did you want to ask me?” Greg opened a drawer and pulled out a butter knife. He pushed it into the tender peanut butter and scooped some of it out. 

“I was wondering if you would like to accompany me to a premiere of the movie The Hobbit.” Mycroft asked quickly. Greg looked up, his hand pausing in the action of spreading the peanut butter on his bread. 

“Really?” Greg asked. Mycroft looked oddly at Gregory. 

“Yes…” Mycroft said. Greg looked down. 

“Yeah, of course, I have nothing today,” Greg continued putting on his dressing. Mycroft watched silently. 

“Great, it’s at two today,” He said finally. Greg put the peanut butter away when he was done with it and took out the jam 

“That sounds good,” Greg opened the jar and began spreading the jelly. Mycroft pursed his lips as he watched the younger boy. 

“So, I’ll see you then?” Mycroft said as he took a step back, moving towards the door. 

“You could stay, if you would like. There won’t be anyone but me in the house anyways,” Greg offered, putting down the knife and pushing the two bread slices together. Mycroft shook his head. 

“I wouldn’t want to intrude.” 

“You wouldn’t be intruding, honestly. I have no other plans and I’d love for you to stay,” Greg said before taking a large bite of the sandwich. Mycroft smiled. 

“I would like to as well. I have no plans, my parents are both out.” Greg swallowed his food. 

“What about Sherlock?” 

“Up to his usual business of dissection and examination,” Mycroft said casually. Greg nodded. 

“Does he do anything else?” Greg asked. Mycroft paused for a moment. 

“To be honest not really. It’s not anyone’s fault but his. He shuts himself out from everyone. He does it on purpose, insults them and makes them dislike him. It’s no surprise he doesn’t have many companions. I would say it’s because he doesn’t want anyone but sometimes I feel like that’s not it,” Mycroft said as he removed his gloves. “Sometimes I think Sherlock wants to be with people but they’re a distraction from what he loves above all; his work.” 

Greg understood quickly. He had been the same just a month before. Had it not been for Mycroft he would still be the same. Even now it was hard to believe the change Mycroft had brought about in Greg. “What about John?” Greg asked, taking another bite. 

Mycroft smiled. “John’s an interesting person. One of the only, besides you, he hasn’t driven away instantly.” Greg thought while he chewed. 

“Why? Why John? Is there something about him?” Greg asked. 

Mycroft nodded. “He has excessive knowledge in the medical fields.” 

Greg laughed. “Of course,” he said. Mycroft smiled, he enjoyed seeing Greg laugh. 

“I suppose the only one’s worth his time are those that can prove to be helpful,” Mycroft said. 

Greg had to agree with that. Had it not been for his knowledge in the sciences he would have been discarded long ago. 

“That seems about right. Sherlock looked…uncomfortable when I mentioned John,” Greg said curiously. Mycroft looked up at Greg, unsure if he should say what he was thinking. 

“John’s been more than a friend for Sherlock. He’s been like…a floor, or ground if you may. Sherlock’s restless, on the edge of insanity. Torn between morals and facts. He has no control over himself. John’s proved to be helpful on a very personal and emotional level.” Greg thought for a moment. 

“So really, really good mates?”

“More, but not a couple. They refuse it continuously, and rightfully so. They aren't a couple. Still, they need each other. Well, Sherlock needs John. Their relationship exceeds friendship and romantic love. The rely heavily on each other for pure survival. It's difficult to understand but...they have an extremely platonic and rare relationship,” Then Mycroft was silent for a moment. “Sometimes I find myself worried that Sherlock will push John away as well and be left with no one.” 

Greg looked sympathetic. 

“I hope that doesn’t happen, Sherlock’s a good person. Beneath all that,” Greg waved his hands around. “…Bravado and all those walls.” 

Mycroft smiled thoughtfully and Greg continued eating. To be quite frank Mycroft couldn’t have found a better way to put it. They spent the afternoon talking; eventually they left the kitchen and went to Greg’s room. Greg apologized to Mycroft and said he would have to shower and would probably be a few minutes. Mycroft seemed fine so Greg left. 

While Greg was gone Mycroft looked at his collection of car figurines. They were marvelous, a hobby Mycroft wished he had taken to as well. Mycroft could name almost all of them. He was stuck when he reached a sleek black hoodless car. For a while he thought before he abandoned it. He would look it up later on. 

Mycroft toured the rest of the room, trying not to cringe at the slight chaos here and there. When Mycroft spotted a white sheet of paper resting delicately on the desk canvas he reached out instinctively. The sheet was folded, deliberately folded so it should not be opened. For a moment Mycroft considered putting it back. He knew he shouldn’t open it. He knew it was wrong of him but he couldn’t help himself, the curiosity was too strong. 

_Dearest, Yesterday I slept unsoundly. My mind is cold and numb to dreams. I cannot breathe properly, for there are chains bounding my feet to the floor. I do not mean to be so melancholy, you see, things are brighter than before, and perhaps I will never know the sun as any other but I see glimpses, small rays of shine that set my skin alight in a pleasant fire. Eventually, you must understand, the fire will burn out. I fear not of the darkness that will come with the absence of the light the fire brought, but of the burns it will leave upon my skin. Fear, of course, is strong, but this fire is stronger and it is weak of me to be unable to put it out but I am enjoying it too much, I enjoy him too much. Guiltily of course. Do not fear for me now, fear for me when it is all to fall, when it is all to die. Fear for me then, for I know not if my weak legs shall withstand the heavy weight of sorrow. I depart, Greg._

When Greg got out of the shower, Mycroft had read the letter a few times over, pondered who _he_ could be for a few minutes before putting the letter back. He could hardly believe these were Greg’s words but he knew he was no one to speak. It struck him as oddly coincidental that he had hundreds of letters written similarly in his room as well. When he saw Greg again he wanted to ask, he wanted to ask why Greg was so afraid, why things had suddenly changed, but instead he said: 

“Would you like to go out for lunch before the movie starts?” 

And Greg said “Yes.”


	11. I wrote you in a poem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hee hee enjoy!!! ! ! things are about to get saucy for Greg and Mycroft

Greg licked his lips and hummed to himself as Mycroft finished his food.

“We have thirty more minutes,” Mycroft commented. Greg had cleaned his plate spotless and Mycroft was almost done. Greg shrugged.

“We could just walk outside,” He suggested. Mycroft agreed and continued eating and when he finished; they paid the bill and left the restaurant.

It was colder outside than yesterday. Still the snow hadn’t fallen. It seemed it was seconds away from spilling, gathering around the edges, threatening to fall. Greg continued humming as they walked.

“Your car collection, how long have you been working on it?” Mycroft asked. Greg looked from the sky clouded with grey tears to the red head beside him.

“2 years,” Greg replied. Mycroft seemed impressed. Greg liked impressing Mycroft.

“I’ve never collected anything. A big mistake on my part,” Mycroft said.

“Well your art…it’s amazing, I can’t say I’m an artist but your hands, they’re skilled,” Greg said. He looked down at Mycroft’s folded hands as he spoke. Mycroft curled them inwards shyly; talking about art seemed to make Mycroft uncomfortable.

“I suppose. What about you? Do you have anything you’re good at? Writing, maybe?” Mycroft asked. Greg looked at him oddly. There was an edge in the boy’s voice, as though he was implying something. Greg shook his head.

“No, I’m no good for anything really. I just have a decent IQ,” Greg shrugged. Mycroft was silent.

“Do you study all day?”

Greg found it interestingly ironic that Mycroft was asking the question Greg had asked about Sherlock. 

“No. I read a lot. Occasionally write but my writing is about as crappy as Sherlock’s social skills,” Greg finished, wondering why Mycroft would have thought of writing. It seemed systematically random.

“I would like to read some of your work one day,” Mycroft said. Greg turned to look at him.

“No, you really don’t,” Greg chuckled. “You’d never look at me the same.”

“Maybe, but I showed you my art didn’t I?”

Greg thought for a moment.

“Only a few sketches. To make it even I could show you a few lines,” Greg offered.

“Not fair, art is different from writing in the sense that whether it’s a sketch or it’s completed, it is what the viewer perceives it to be, which is, essentially, what a completed piece of art is displayed as. So, in essence, a sketch is the same as a completed and finalized work of art. Writing, on the other hand, it cannot be separated. Taking a line out of a paragraph doesn’t speak the emotions the entire paragraph is working to display. Writing must be shown together, as one. Segregating sentences ruins the fluency of them, it ruins the emotional build up,” Mycroft explained. Greg sighed.

“Blimey, you should probably be the one writing,” Greg replied.

“Who says I don’t?” Mycroft replied. Greg looked up surprised.

“Writing and drawing? Didn’t I get lucky,” Greg laughed. He stopped at once when he realized what he had implied. “I don’t mean like…you aren’t mine or anything…not like we’re…I just meant—”

Mycroft laughed heartily.

“I understand, Gregory, calm down.”

Greg exhaled. Before Greg could think on what had just happened, Mycroft changed the topic and Greg relaxed as they eased into their regular conversations.

“We should leave now, the movie will be starting soon,” Mycroft looked down at his wristwatch. Greg nodded.

“Probably.”

The movie cinema was about a 10-minute walk away so they hailed a cab and arrived in a few short minutes. The hall was packed with people ecstatically talking and raving about the book and its excellence. Had it not been for the fact that Mycroft’s father owned the cinema they would never have gotten seats.

“Have you read the book?” Mycroft asked as they stood in line for popcorn.

“Of course I have, they’re brilliant. Tolkien is a genius and his writing is unlike any I’ve ever come across,” Greg replied enthusiastically. Mycroft seemed to light up.

“I can’t agree more I’ve been a HUGE fan of Tolkien since I first read all his books, when I was about 10 or 11.” 

 

Greg whistled. “I actually didn’t read them till I was 14, but I’ve loved them wholeheartedly since then. I think the amount of times I’ve read them over would be equivalent to the amount of books I’ve read in total.”

“I’m also a fan of Martin Freeman, my father did some work with him and I was able to meet him a few times.”

Greg gaped.

“Really! I am so jealous. I’ve been a fan of Martin Freeman since forever, I would kill to meet him!”

Mycroft grinned.

“I could definitely try to arrange something,” Mycroft offered. Greg tried not to open his mouth too wide.

“That would just be…” He wasn’t sure entirely how to phrase how he felt. Mycroft laughed.

“I know, Gregory, I know,” The red head replied in understanding.

“What can I get you?” The waitress asked when they reached the counter.

“Umm,” Mycroft looked towards Gregory. “Two popcorns?”

Greg shook his head.

“One should be fine,” Greg replied. He wasn’t quite so hungry. Mycroft agreed and turned to the girl.

“One medium please.”

She turned and hurried off to complete their order. She was cute, or rather, Mycroft supposed a straight would say, hot. When he turned he found a majority of the men behind them staring at her as she bent over. Mycroft looked towards Gregory, who seemed more interested in the poster of Robert Downey Jr.

“Iron Man 3 will be amazing, I cannot wait for it to come out.”

Mycroft had to agree.

“I’ve loved Marvel since I was a kid, but I’m more of a fan of Thor and Captain America.”

Greg turned with wide eyes.

“The Avengers! I love Marvel so much, I have a huge collection of comics at home, I’ll have to show you. When it comes to a favorite Avenger it’s a tie between Iron man and Hawkeye,” Greg replied. “Both the characters are so dynamic and often overlooked.

“No, I remain certain that neither play as important a role as Steve or Thor. They’re wonderful characters but Captain America has been through so much more,” Mycroft countered.

“He wasn’t even awake for half of it!” Greg exclaimed. Mycroft smiled but shook his head.

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t go through anything.”

Greg disagreed.

“Still, Iron Man has seen horrors and Hawkeye is a genius and they are such strong individual characters.”

Mycroft paid for the popcorn when it arrived, but they argued over who would pay for a minute or two, Greg insisting they split it in half, Mycroft insisting he had brought Greg in the first place.

“Couples, they’re always bickering,” Said an old woman behind them. Greg turned back quickly and Mycroft swallowed.

“We’re not actually—”

“Come, Gregory, there’s no point explaining, you can pay next time,” Mycroft said, gently pushing Greg forward. “We’re holding up the line.”

Greg nervously complied. He was more and more curious as to why people so hastily assumed Mycroft and he were a couple. They didn’t touch each other, they didn’t kiss each other, they just talked, isn’t that typically what friends tend to do? Greg looked at Mycroft but he seemed to have forgotten the moment. They took their seats in the dark, it was a little difficult at first to find them but Mycroft’s eyesight was keen and he lead the way confidently. They were in the back, tucked into the farthest corner. Greg enjoyed the privacy it offered but he did not like the distance of the screen. He turned to Mycroft and almost banged heads. They were uncomfortably close and Greg could smell the other boy. He smelt of something distantly relaxing.

“Are you alright?” Mycroft asked. “Comfortable?”

“Absolutely,” Greg replied. He turned back to face the still dark screen. Despite the noisiness of the hundreds around them, Greg could hear Mycroft’s breathing, deep and calm. In comparison, his seemed quicker.

“Its odd, how people keep assuming we’re a couple,” Greg noted. Mycroft turned to look at him and lifted an eyebrow.

“People have assumed before?” Mycroft asked. Greg blushed suddenly when he realized he had never told Mycroft.

“Yeah, the morning after the…car auction…my mum was asking about you,” Greg’s hands fiddled with themselves nervously. Mycroft noted the change in tone and body language subtly.

“Interesting, I suppose we seem…couple-like?” Mycroft offered. In truth he had no answer either.

“I’ve never been in a relationship before, how do you mean couple-like?” Greg was slightly embarrassed that he had never been with another, but he supposed Mycroft could already tell.

“Well, neither have I,” Mycroft replied. Greg turned seemingly shocked.

“Really?” He asked incredulously.

“Yes, is it that surprising?” Mycroft smiled as he asked.

Greg thought for a moment, eyebrows raised high.

“Well, I mean you’re just…different from me….you’re more confident, you have charm you’re good looking enough, I just figured you know, people at school like you a lot, you’d have been in a relationship before.”

Mycroft smiled lightly at the compliments Greg had offered, though not on purpose. It made Mycroft wonder.

“Well, I think you’ve assumed a lot very quickly.”

“Like what?” Greg asked. He had thought Mycroft would say something else.

“That I’m confident, I’m charming, I’m different from you,” Mycroft shrugged. “All of those are hardly the truth,” Mycroft reached down and brought his drink to his lips, the straw slipping in between his mouth’s parting smoothly. Greg shifted uncomfortably.

“Well, I’m just saying…I beg to…erm…differ,” Greg rarely found himself at loss for words and being this way now made him blush harder. He wanted to be back at home alone with his car collection and his mess, he felt terribly awkward here with Mycroft.

Mycroft smiled.

“Thank you, I suppose.”

“Would you two stop flirting?” A man turned in frustration and glared at both of them. Greg blushed harder, though it seemed impossible to bring more redness to his cheeks. The movie had started, but Greg had barely noticed.

“Sorry,” Mycroft replied, not bothering to correct the man, Greg noticed. The movie lasted long and the entire time, Greg was painfully aware of Mycroft’s radiating body heat, of the boy’s arm relaxing on the armrest next to him. Greg peeked from the corner of his eyes at Mycroft. The red head was staring intently at the screen, the light touching gently on his face, exposing curves and indents Greg hadn’t noticed before. Mycroft seemed…different, when he couldn’t see Greg staring. Suddenly, the red head’s eyes flickered and met Greg’s. Greg blushed and looked down at his popcorn. He held it out awkwardly.

“Would you like any?” He offered. Mycroft smiled and nodded, he reached forward and with slender hands reached into the box, his wrist brushed Greg’s hand, and Greg swallowed. It was still dark where they sat and Greg could feel Mycroft’s presence as though it alone existed as a separate being. Greg couldn’t see below Mycroft’s shoulder but he could see a faint outline.

“Thank you,” Mycroft opened his mouth and popped one in. With cheeks flaming Greg turned to the screen again and hoped Mycroft hadn’t noticed his blushing.


	12. How else could I have shut you up?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well friends, this one is kind of exciting and I just couldn't wait till next monday to update it, I got really excited writing this and I'm sorry if you don't like how quick it happened or that it wasn't prolonged, but I hope you enjoy reading it! ^_^

Towards the end of the movie Greg stretched his arms out, drowsiness creeping in despite his passion for the plot unfolding before him. His arm bumped clumsily into Mycroft’s chest, which was slightly painful, Greg had to admit. He pulled his arm back shyly and Mycroft laughed.

“Sorry,” Greg apologized but Mycroft shook his head and said it was fine. Nonetheless Greg felt awkward. They watched the rest in silence.

“That was absolutely brilliant,” Mycroft said when the credits rolled in and the lights came on slowly. Both boys in silent unison waited patiently as people filed out. When the hall was mostly empty Greg turned and immediately the two began talking about the accuracy and occasional forgivable inaccurate scene. They talked about their favorite dwarves and Greg felt unexplainably happy to be sitting alone, in startlingly low light with Mycroft when a short time ago he could barely look at Mycroft without wanting to curl up into a tiny ball.

“You kids need to leave, the next showing is starting soon,” Someone interrupted them. Mycroft stood quickly and so did Greg.

“Sorry,” Mycroft walked quickly past the janitor who was standing on the steps cleaning popcorn from the floor. Greg followed and nodded in apology as they hurried down the stairs.

“I can’t wait to hear Benedict Cumberbatch talk as Smaug,” Gregory said as they walked out, the plush carpet sinking under their feet.

“Neither can I—”

“Mike?” Interrupted a high-pitched voice. They both turned quickly to see whom it belonged to.

“Oh dear,” Mycroft said under his breath. Greg gulped and began backing away, but Mycroft grabbed hold of his wrist tightly, too tightly, and looked him in the eye.

“No,” Mycroft said simply and commandingly. Greg froze in place, staring at Mycroft silently.

“Is that you?”

Mycroft ripped his eyes off Greg almost painfully and turned to look at Sally, who had approached them.

“Yes,” Mycroft replied. Sally looked at Greg and her mouth fell open.

“Is that Gregory?” She laughed. “The one you called a bookworm?”

Mycroft glanced back with wide eyes to see Greg’s reaction. Greg looked surprised and he looked from Sally to Mycroft with his eyes wide as well.

“Yes, it is,” Mycroft replied stiffly.

“Is this a joke?” Sally’s smile died down as she looked at the two of them. “Are you kidding? You and this freak?” She seemed more disgusted than surprised.

“Fuck off,” Mycroft threw at her. Greg had never seen him swear. Sally gaped and Mycroft turned, still holding Greg tightly and dragging him along.

\--

“I’m a book worm?” Greg asked, more surprised than angry or upset, once they had stepped outside.

“I didn’t, its not…I didn’t actually,” Mycroft stuttered, it was appalling, seeing him at a loss for words.

Greg pursed his lips. He wasn’t angry, not at all. Perhaps a little hurt but if he was to be honest he had been expecting it.

“I know I really like reading and working and my life is boring and I have nothing interesting about me--”

“Stop,” Mycroft said but Greg ignored him.

“And maybe that’s why people generally don’t like me but you didn’t have to pretend—”

In a heartbeat Greg could feel two hands wrapped around his face and a pair of hot lips pressed perfectly against his. For a moment he didn’t react, couldn’t react, but then his hands reached up and held onto Mycroft’s neck and his lips responded, breathing into Mycroft’s.

Then Mycroft pulled back quickly and wiped his lips, not in distaste but in a shy attempt at hiding what had just happened. He took a few steps back and coughed.

“I’m sorry, I just had to shut you up because I’ve never hear anything so wrong. You can’t honestly believe any of that…?” Mycroft spoke fast. Greg stared at him, dumbfounded. Still recovering. “Boring?? Are you joking? You’re the only person,” Mycroft took a step forward to stress his point. “The only person I have ever met I want to spend more time with. Alright?”

Greg opened his mouth but no words stood now, no thoughts mulled his mind, nothing seemed to come. For the first time, Greg was completely and utterly silent.

“Did you just kiss me?” Greg asked. Mycroft paused then he smiled, laughed, and turned. He looked incredibly different when he laughed, like he was drinking in the air around him. Greg grinned as well.

“Come along now, Gregory,” Mycroft said as he walked forward. Greg caught up and together they walked as they continued discussing the movie.

\--

“Are we going to talk about it?” Greg asked as they walked along, hands tucked into their coats. It was dark out now and Greg could only see the outline of Mycroft's figure.

“Talk about what?” Mycroft asked.

“About Sally,” Greg replied. Unknowingly, Mycroft released a sigh of relief.

“What about her?” He said, pretending as though he wasn’t sure what Greg was talking about. They had decided to walk the rest of the way home, laughing and talking as they went along. Mycroft had been worried that Greg would be upset, angry. He had worried with all too much fear that Greg would not want to speak to Mycroft again but the red head was being his usual, dramatic self and Greg had been his usual unbelievably forgiving self and dismissed it.

“Well it's just…what are you going to do now?” Greg asked, turning to look at Mycroft. The red head blew out a breath of air and it clouded visibly as he thought.

“Whatever has to be done,” Mycroft replied simply. Greg looked confused.

“Whatever has to be done to what?” Greg pushed.

“To make them leave us alone,” Mycroft pushed his hands into his coat further. Greg looked down at his feet as he walked. He thought while he chewed his lips.

“Oh,” He said in reply. Mycroft smiled.

“What did you think I would do?”

“I don’t really know, I just figured maybe you’d apologize, set things straight,” Greg looked up, head still bowed, at Mycroft. Mycroft shrugged.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said you are the only person I’ve met worth talking to.”

They were both silent and Mycroft wondered what Greg was thinking.

“Cool,” Greg replied. Mycroft looked down at the brunette and smiled, Greg grinned back and it lit his bright pink face.

\--

“Would you like to come inside?” Greg offered when they reached his house. Mycroft looked inside and was tempted but his father was due to return home tonight and Mycroft worried he would be caught out past his curfew. Although his father didn’t truly care he enjoyed seeking out reasons to release the anger he had from his work.

“No, I shouldn’t,” Mycroft shook his head. Greg nodded in understanding.

“Thanks then, it was a really great movie and I had a great time,” Greg thanked the red head. Mycroft smiled.

“My pleasure. Till next time, Gregory,” Mycroft said as he turned and began walking away. Greg smiled to himself and walked into his brightly lit, warm home.


	13. Butterflies

When Greg stepped inside, he could smell pasta cooking in the kitchen. It smelled so delicious, Greg walked straight towards it, forgetting to take off his coat and gloves in his haste.

Grace stood at the stove; hands busy chopping, slicing, and cooking. Greg walked towards her and she jumped when he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Hey mum,” He said, removing some of the layers of clothing he had on.

“Oh, hello! You could have called, you know. I’ve had absolutely, no idea when to expect you,” She said, stirring the cooking pasta.

“Sorry, I got…carried away,” Greg replied, flushing slightly. When he remembered what had happened, his stomach turned and the wings of fluttering butterflies tickled him from inside. “Actually, I’m not really hungry. I think I’ll just, go to bed.”

Grace turned with a disappointed look on her face.

“Oh no, but, I’ve been working so long on our dinner!”

Greg shrugged.

“Sorry.”

Grace looked sympathetic and understanding, she could tell it was more than just lack of appetite.

“Alright…off you go then,” She said, turning back. Greg was relieved she didn’t ask any questions, but he doubted she would maintain the silence.

\---

When Mycroft got home the incense in the house burnt brightly, and when he breathed it in, he felt slightly calmer. But he hurried to his room because following the incense, he knew, would be his father.

Sherlock was most likely in his lab, Mycroft was certain. He had grown used to not seeing his little brother other than during meal times (most of which Sherlock never attended). He reached his room and closed the door behind him. It was warm inside, so warm he could feel himself begin to sweat lightly under his coat and sweater. He peeled of the coat, cap, mufflers, and gloves, and hung them neatly. Then he walked towards his bed and fell back on it.

He was in complete denial. If his lips weren’t still tingling with the taste of Gregory, and his hands weren’t still remembering Greg’s skin beneath them, he would have believed he had completely made it all up. But his insides were squirming and that was impossible to deny. He sat up and thought for a moment before walking to his desk. Faint sketches of faces he had seen briefly on streets and in windows were lying haphazardly on the wood surface. He had given up on many of them. Beneath the stack he pulled out one sketch that was far more distinct than the rest. It was a picture perfect sketch of Gregory. Mycroft sighed, sat down, and pulled out a blank peace of paper. Initially, he had thought he would write a letter, but now his hand itched to draw. To draw the pair of lips he had felt on his own. Before he could tell himself “absolutely not, that is very creepy,” his hand had begun. Lines drew themselves as he danced on the page. He shaded, colored and perfected every inch of it. When he was done he held it up in the air and examined it. It was a great piece, he admitted. Then, he glanced around him guiltily and stuffed it under more sketches of cars and buildings. He swallowed and looked down.

Oh god, what was he doing?

\---

In his room, Gregory slipped on another layer of clothing. He was freezing cold. He could feel the cold biting into his bone, and he huddled on his bed, lights still on, and blankets clutched in his fists. He closed his eyes and he saw the red, bright hair.

_Oh no._

_No_.

_Absolutely not._

He thought to himself. He would not think about _him._ He would not think about his…lips or his…hair or…eyes. No, he wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t.

Greg turned and stuffed his face into his pillow, groaning loudly. A soft knock sounded on the door. So soft, Greg could barely hear it.

“Greg? You in there?” Grace’s voice cooed softly. Greg lifted himself onto his elbows.

“Yes mum, I am,” He responded. The door opened and Grace walked in. She treaded over clothing on the floor and sat on the bed next to Greg.

“Are you alright?” She asked. She reached out with one hand and stroked Greg’s hair, pushing it off his forehead.

“Umm, Okay? I don’t really know,” He replied truthfully. He sighed and fell onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “Something happened today,” He said. Grace’s hand touched his cheek tenderly.

“Something bad, or, good?”

Greg turned towards her and closed his eyes.

“Both, I guess. It’s, weird,” He opened them and Grace, hands to herself again, looked confused. She stayed silent, waiting for Greg to continue talking. He swallowed thickly. He loved his mother, loved her from the bottom of his heart but he had never really talked to her about his feelings, or about what went on outside of the house. She knew he had never really had friends, she knew he was bullied; she had tried to stop it once. But he had never answered her properly when she talked to him about it. Or anything regarding his emotions. Now, however, he was going to burst. He was bubbling with all his emotions locked and guarded. He couldn’t keep it to himself anymore.

“Someone, erm, kissed me today,” He said, his cheeks flaming, and his voice dimming down. Grace’s eyebrows shot up, she looked mildly surprised.

“Oh well, that’s good, isn’t it?” She smiled widely. “Was it someone, from your school?”

Greg nodded.

“Well, the person didn’t kiss me, because,” Greg paused and looked at Grace carefully, assessing her face. “He _wanted_ to,” Grace eyebrows went up a fraction of an inch higher, and Greg felt himself begin to sweat nervously. “It was because I wouldn’t shut up about, what I was saying.”

Grace licked her lips and thought for a moment.

“Well, do you like Mycroft?” She asked. Greg sat up quickly and hastily, his heart skipping a beat at the name.

“What? Mycroft? Why would you just, assume-?”

“Sorry, not Mycroft, then,” Grace said quickly. Greg sunk back onto his bed again. Grace repressed laughing to herself at Greg’s narrowed eyes.

“Well, do you like…him?”

“I don’t know! I’ve thought about it, a lot, I can’t stop thinking about…it. I just, don’t, know,” Greg replied, eyes on his folded hands. Grace reached out and stroked him again. He was immediately comforted by the gesture. He remembered her stroking his forehead when he returned home with a bloody knee, with a black eye, with a broken bag or ripped textbook. He sighed. He knew that she knew it was Mycroft. There was no other male she had ever seen him on friendly terms with, no one else he had been going out of the house with, no one else that was openly queer. She had connected to the dots because they were lined up perfectly for her, and Greg couldn’t deny it any longer.

“I didn’t know I was…gay.”

“I didn’t know you were either, but I love you, no matter what,” Grace said. “Actually, your uncle’s gay too. Gay, and happily married,” Grace smiled a small smile. “There’s nothing wrong with it. If you like Mycroft,” Grace paused apologetically, but when Greg didn’t react, she continued. “Then all you can do is tell him and hope he does too.”

“But…but what if he doesn’t?” Greg asked, his hands twisting nervously. “What if he thinks I’m stupid for it, or, he finds it weird, or scary, or he doesn’t want to talk to me anymore?”

“Then, he’s not a very good friend, is he?” Grace smiled. “But in any case, who wouldn’t like my sweet, crunchy, munchkin?” She said in a childish voice, leaning forward for a kiss. Greg made a face and pushed her away.

“Mum, come on, I’m not a child,” Greg said, laughing. Grace got up.

“You’re still not hungry?” She asked. Her apron was stained red with pasta sauce. Greg shook his head. “Alright, whatever you say,” She turned and walked to the door. “Good night, I love you,” She said, closing it.

“Love you too,” Greg replied. The door clicked into place and Greg leaned over to turn off the light. He sighed when he got back into the bed, and clutched the sheets tightly again. When he dreamt, he dreamt of red hair.


	14. This is becoming overwhelmingly gay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi readers, sorry for the wait, hopefully it wasn't agonizing. I've had some troubles. I thought I'd get to update more, but that might not be the case anymore. I will do it as often as I can and hopefully stick to the once a week regime. If I can't, feel free to chastise me, or send me a message telling me to "WAKE THE HELL UP AND UPDATE, WOMAN, THIS IS NOT A GAME."
> 
> Because at some point, I think I forget real people read this stuff. Thanks for sticking with the fanfic, and I have an exciting, really exciting, chapter coming up REALLY soon. ^.^

Morning felt like night. Every aching inch of Gregory wanted to return to bed. He hadn’t changed, much less showered, he hadn’t packed books in his bag, he hadn’t packed anything. And he didn’t want to.

Knock knock.

“Greg?” Grace’s voice was soft and soothing, but at 6 in the morning nothing could penetrate his head. “You’ll be late Greg...”

Greg turned over on his bed and sighed.

“There’s someone out front waiting for you,” Grace added, almost whispering. Greg thought maybe he had heard her wrong, because she had been so soft, but he was out of bed and at the door before he could realize.

“What?” He asked as he opened the door. “Someone out front? Who?” Though he didn’t figure he would have to ask to know.

“He says his name is Sherlock,” Greg’s heart sank. “And he demands to see you right now.”

“Alright,” Greg grumbled. He shuffled to his cupboard and slipped something over his head, unsure what, put on a coat and some shoes before stepping out.

“I need to see you as soon as possible,” Sherlock said as soon as Greg joined him. He looked strikingly...handsome today, Greg had to admit. His thick black hair contradicted the white of the snow, and his cheekbones were sharp and delicate, his lips turning a deep shade of red. Though they looked very different, there were slight features here and there Gregory now noticed he shared with Mycroft.

“What for?” Greg asked, tucking his steadily freezing hands into his pockets.

“I think I’ve discovered something,” Sherlock said quickly. Greg’s eyebrows went up, suddenly interested.

“What?” He asked.

“No, you’ll have to come. Is 4:00 tomorrow good?”

A rhetorical question, of course. Greg didn’t have a choice.

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” Gregory, replied. Sherlock nodded curtly and then turned to leave. “Sherlock!” Greg called. Sherlock turned, eyes narrowed against the sun.

“What?”

“I was wondering if…er…Mycroft’s doing okay,” Greg asked hesitantly. Sherlock stood for a moment staring at him.

“He’s been in his room, as far as I know, although he seemed to have enjoyed the brief kiss you shared with him,” Sherlock replied.

“How did you-?”

“His coat collar, obviously,” Sherlock said, smirking. Then he turned and left.

Greg stumbled, freezing cold, back into his house. With the heater on as low as possible it was still cold inside.

“Greg, you’ve got 10 minutes, hurry!” Grace called from the kitchen. Greg changed and grabbed some books, stuffing them in his bag.

“I don’t want breakfast, mum!” Greg said as he walked towards the front door.

“Then eat a good lunch, you had no dinner last night either!” Grace replied, her mouth full.

"Fine mum, I promise I will!" Greg said as he opened the door and shut it behind him, snow on the front porch flying as it came to an abrupt close.

Greg shuffled through what looked liked the pathway beneath the snow, his feet sinking in. He wondered if Mycroft was waiting for him.

\--

“Gregory!”

Greg turned and watched Mycroft, bag slung across his chest, in a thick fur lined coat with gloves and mufflers on, walk towards him. His face a scarlet red.

“Hi,” Greg greeted the red head when he had caught up. Mycroft beamed at him, his lips larger and redder than Sherlock. Snow with the Holmes’s boys really seemed to do the trick.

“Hello,” Mycroft, slightly out of breath, replied. “Good night?” He asked, his gloved hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, alright. You?”

“Tired,” Mycroft’s eyes squinted. The snow was a blinding bright white.

“Me too. Sherlock dropped by this morning, and said he’s got some news.”

Mycroft kicked a stone in front of him.

“Mm,” He said, disinterested.

“Are you alright?” Greg asked, his voice quivering slightly.

“Yes, my dad’s back, and it’s just been hectic at home,” Mycroft sighed.

“Siger Holmes?”

Mycroft’s red eyebrows shot up.

“You know him?”

Greg snorted. “Everyone around here knows him. He practically owns, every store and restaurant, in all of Britain.” 

“True,” Mycroft shrugged. “He’s never really home, but he got back last night.”

“And you don’t like that?”

“He doesn’t like me much,” In response to Greg’s look he continued. “I’m queer,” Mycroft said, as though reminding him.

Greg nodded.

“Oh. Didn’t know he was, homophobic.”

“That would make two, Gregory,” Mycroft said.

“Listen, about, er, yesterday,” Greg coughed when his voice came out rough.

Mycroft looked at him questioningly.

“You don’t have to give up your friends for me, really, you’ve known me only a month or so, and you’ve known your mates for a lot longer, I suppose it’s just, rather daft, to forget about them.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes.

“I thought you’d say something interesting. Listen, do I have to kiss you again, to get your attention?” At this Greg gulped thickly, blushing. “I have chosen not to be mates with them anymore. They’ve always been a replacement, till someone better came around, and someone did.”

Gregory, now blushing more than he though possible looked up.

“Erm…who’s that?” Though he knew who it was, he couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“Well, you, of course. I don’t suppose you’ve seen me around anyone else, have you?”

“No…” Greg replied. It wasn’t often he felt extremely stupid, however around Mycroft, he felt dumber than a shoe. If he was to admit it, Mycroft seemed to be better at everything.

“Right then,” Mycroft said, smiling slightly. “Any plans for tomorrow?”

“I’m supposed to work with Sherlock,” Greg’s hands curled into fists as they got colder. They were almost at school.

“Wonderful for the two of you,”

“I can’t avoid it, I think I created a life or death contract, when I first agreed to work with him,” Greg shrugged. Mycroft laughed, head thrown back.

“That, is extremely accurate.”

They walked in silence for a moment.

“When did you come out, to your parents?” Greg asked.

“Not too long ago, actually, it’s only January, and I told them, as well as everyone else, last year September,” Mycroft replied. “Why would you like to know?”

“No reason, I’m just, surprised your father’s homophobic. Considering he’s got a wide business, he must have realized there are homosexuals everywhere. Finding them disgusting, can’t go off too well with a large portion of his customers,” Greg said quickly. He really had only wanted to know because he himself, had just come out last night, and he kind of wanted to talk about it. 

“Father is very good at maintaining a fake persona. If asked in front of others, he’ll tell you he has nothing against them.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” Greg’s heart was beginning to beat faster now. He wanted to tell Mycroft that he had decided he was gay, but wouldn’t that imply he had feelings for the red head? And he didn’t want to say anything about that just yet. “I, erm, wanted to talk to you about, something,” Greg stumbled, speaking before he could stop himself. Mycroft looked up, eyebrows furrowed together.

“Anything you’d like, Gregory.”

“Erm, I think that, well, I just,”

“Come on, Greg, it can’t be that hard,” Mycroft said soothingly.

Greg’s cheeks were a deep apple red. “I think, that, I’m, gay.”

“Oh, well, that’s, not what I was expecting,” Mycroft smiled. “I’m not surprised, Gregory, but I’m glad you’ve finally admitted it.”

Greg smiled, his heart was still pounding fast.

“But, why so suddenly?”

Oh god, there was the question. The question that would ruin everything. Greg swallowed and looked down.

“I don’t really, I mean, it’s not just like now, I’ve kind of been thinking about it, for a long time,” Greg replied. It was as casual and vague as he could get. Mycroft still seemed unconvinced.

“I still can’t believe you’ve finally come out and said it,” Mycroft grinned. Greg blushed again.

“ You say it like you’ve been expecting it,” Greg replied, still unable to meet Mycroft’s eyes. Mycroft shrugged.

“I think I knew from the moment I met you. It was probably one of the reasons, I enjoyed your company so much. Though you refused to see it, I believed that deep down, you knew as well as I, that we shared that in common. I think I’ve come to like you so much more, not just because you are a wonderful person, but because you are like me, and I like you. I am not surprised, because from the first day, I had been expecting this announcement.” Mycroft said softly. But it was not a soft thing for him to say, because suddenly, it turned everything more intimate. Like every moment they had spent together, every word they had said to each other, had become more. Something deeper, something more timid and fragile and something so much more, emotional. Greg hated Mycroft for saying it, because that’s when Greg knew, immediately knew, that Greg couldn’t resist Mycroft if he tried. It was when Greg finally understood the fundamentals of their entire friendship, were created on this illusion Greg had made, that he hadn’t felt anything more than friendship. From the first night out, Greg realized, he had had feelings for Mycroft.

“Maybe I did kind of know,” Greg shrugged, as though his entire world had not just turned itself inside out. 

 

“Well, it can’t have helped that I am, so attractive,” Mycroft joked, Greg grinned, but Mycroft would most likely never know how true the single statement was.

\--

When they reached the school, they had 8 minutes or so left before they’d be parting ways to different classes. Mycroft, who usually went at this time to his other friends, followed Greg to the library.

“Are you usually here?” Mycroft asked. Greg nodded.

“Before school, and during lunch."

They walked quietly on the plush carpet towards an empty table. Greg placed his bag down.

“What do you have first?” Mycroft asked after he had seated himself, his hands resting on the table quietly.

“I’ve got geography,” Greg pulled out a binder from his bag, and flipped through its contents. “What about you?”

“Spanish 4,” Mycroft yawned, his white teeth bright in contrast to the red of his mouth. Greg shifted uncomfortably, when he thought of Mycroft’s mouth.

“We’ve got English together, after that, then I’ve got History, then Biology.”

They both paused. Greg looked up at Mycroft’s furrowed eyebrows. They had Biology with Dimmock and the rest of the gang. Mycroft cleared his throat and his face relaxed again.

“Right. I forgot about that. I’ll be dropping the class soon.”

“What? Why?”

“Well, I was placed into it by accident. They’ve been shuffling me around with classes, but I’ve taken all of the free ones already on my own, so they’re unsure of what to do with that section of my schedule,” Mycroft looked around at the clock. They had 5 minutes till the bell rang. “We should probably get going.”

Greg nodded and packed up his things.

“I’ve already taken Biology, I didn’t know you could switch out if you have the credit.”

“So long as you can prove it, the school should place you in another class,” Mycroft slung his bag on again across his chest, and it pressed heavily down, against his sweater.

“I’ll go request it today, I’ve been sick of that class for ages. It’s all too elementary. Hopefully I can jump to Advanced Chemistry,” Greg walked with Mycroft out to the main school hall.

“If you join that class, I could request it as well, but otherwise I think they’ll be giving me another free period. I’ve already got two. They need more classes here,” Mycroft sighed.

“Right. I’ve got to run, I’ll see you next period,” Greg said as he departed.

“Yup, bye,” Mycroft replied.

*

Extremely bored in Geography, and already certain he knew everything being covered, Gregory lapsed into a daydream, sketching on the edge of his notebook. He thought of Mycroft’s redness in the harsh cold and his stomach squirmed. He blushed at his reaction. It was steadily become more and more embarrassing how every time Greg thought of things, they were shaded Mycroft’s hair. Or the way his stomach fluttered when he saw or heard Mycroft. Greg shifted in his seat as it begun to grow more uncomfortable. He bit down on his lip hard. 

When Mycroft had kissed him, it was all he had thought about and that he, Gregory Lestrade, wanted Mycroft to kiss him again.

He felt warm and queasy inside, he felt silly and young. He wanted to see Mycroft again and his doodles turned into Mycroft’s familiar eyes, hair, and freckles. Greg stopped himself and looked down. 

_You really are, extremely, gay._

He thought to himself. Then he looked up guiltily to see if anyone had noticed, and flipped the page to a blank one.


	15. A little violence can't hurt...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, sorry for taking so long, I really suck at being on time, don't I? I'm travelling over the next few days, so I'll TRY and write the next chapters whenever I can, and since I haven't updated in a while, I'll update the next chapter REALLY soon. Like, in a day or so, because I owe you guys!
> 
> Thanks for reading, and enjoy ^.^

Mycroft snapped into attention when his teacher’s voice grew dangerously close.

“And that’s all for this class. I will, however, be expecting three page essays from each of you by next Monday.”

Simultaneously the entire classroom groaned as they packed their bags. A long hour and a half had passed exceedingly quickly, it seemed, when all Mycroft could think about was Greg.

While Greg would be in bio, it didn’t seem likely they would enjoy the time whatsoever. Mycroft was already dreading having to see Dimmock and Sally. He lifted his bag and, with his insides squirming, walked to class as slow as he possibly could. When he arrived he was a minute or so late.

“Sit down,” Barked the teacher in the front. Mycroft, aware of all the eyes on him, hurried to the vacant seat beside Greg and sat down. He turned to look at the brunette, but his eyes were cast downward and his cheeks were flaming red. Though he hadn’t been here Mycroft knew instantly Dimmock had said something. He felt horrible, suddenly, for coming so late.

“You’re going to work in assigned partnerships today. I’ll let you pick numbers from a hat.”

Mycroft swallowed and looked down at his arms resting on the desk. He counted his freckles as his teacher held out the hat and walked around.

“Take one quickly,” Urged the teacher from next to Mycroft.

Greg reached in and pulled out a large green 3.

Mycroft reached in and pulled out a 4.

“Alright, look for your corresponding numbers and begin your lab.”

Mycroft stood up and joined the crowd of students scurrying around, calling out numbers and attempting to create an order.

7, Mycroft thought, relieved, Dimmock has 7.

“You’re in my group,” A girl’s voice, loud and high-pitched rang out.

“I’ll get the papers,” Mycroft mumbled and squeezed through the crowd till he got to the stack. He reached out and felt skin brush the top of his hand, when he looked up, Dimmock stared down at him. He didn’t look angry, or upset, he looked confused, really, really confused.

“What the fuck are you doing over there, Myc?” He whispered. Mycroft shrugged his shoulders. “You’re not kidding, are you?…Sally told me what happened, in the cinema, but…Lestrade? Really?” Mycroft was pushed aside, and he grabbed two papers just in time. Thankfully, he wasn’t able to respond. He hurried quickly back to his partner and smiled at her, handing over one paper. She scowled.

“What took you so long?” She asked rhetorically, sighing in frustration. She then proceeded to complete the entire lab, not requiring and not asking anything of Mycroft. And the red head, who had done this lab a countless number of times, figured it would be more to her benefit than his if he let her complete the work. She clearly wanted to.

So Mycroft pulled up a chair and sat down. He looked around the room. Two rows ahead of him Dimmock sat, forcing his partner to complete everything, and at the back end of the opposite side of the room, Gregory hunched over his microscope, his partner, someone Mycroft didn’t know, relaxed on his phone.

Mycroft sighed and looked down at the freckles on his arms again.

Supposedly, red hair was a fashion statement many people desired, but Mycroft hated it. Gregory’s hair was a relaxed, soft brown, which was the color Mycroft wanted. Brown like chocolate. His face was long, and his eyes were wide. He had darker skin than Mycroft, and brown eyebrows. Mycroft wondered where else Greg had brown hair. He blushed unwillingly. For the next 40 minutes, Mycroft stared at Greg. Watched Greg jot down his notes, return to the microscope, take testers of different materials, and, what Mycroft liked most, remove and put on his goggles as he switched from manhandling chemicals to looking at them safely. Greg looked in place, like he knew what he was doing, like every object around him was familiar to him. He resembled Sherlock in a lab.

“Time is up. If you haven’t gotten to your second lab, expect to finish that next class, with the same partners,” The teacher called out over them. People stopped messing around. “Now, please return what you used,” But he could hardly be heard, the students messily returned their equipment and hurried to get out of class. Greg took his time cleaning up his station and, when he was done, cleaning up the rest.

 

“You done Mr. OCD?” Someone called out from behind Greg. Mycroft looked at Sally with narrowed eyes as she left the room laughing.

“It’s alright, I don’t care much,” Greg said under his breath. Now the teacher had left too and it was just the two of them.

“It bothers me,” Mycroft replied. “And so I won’t stand for it.”

Greg smiled as he wiped down the table with a cloth.

“Alright, I’m done,” He said eventually, standing up and releasing the strain in his aching back. Mycroft looked up from the book he was reading, one eyebrow perched.

“Finally?”

“Finally,” Greg confirmed. They picked up their bags and left the room. With all the kids in their classes, the school was silent. They walked together, Greg now eating a peach, and Mycroft still reading his book.

“Aren’t you meant to be in your next class?” Mycroft asked. Greg swallowed.

“No, I dropped out because I’ve already done it, like you told me to, so they gave me a free block.”

Mycroft looked positively delighted.

“So we’ve got a free block together?”

Greg nodded.

“Well, in that case, what would you suppose we do?” Mycroft reached a bench and put down his bag.

“I suppose go get something to eat,” Greg offered.

“But, you’re already eating something.”

Greg smiled.

“Doesn’t mean I’m not hungry.”

“Alright, fine, where do you want to go?” Mycroft lifted his stuff, the momentary satisfaction of resting gone as he walked to the exit of the school. He pulled out a coat from his bag, gloves and a cap and put them on, Greg doing the same.

“Well I was think—“ Greg began.

“Cold as tits outside, huh?”

Greg and Mycroft turned around. Dimmock stood, arms crossed, against the lockers opposite them. Mycroft locked his jaw tightly and nodded.

“Quite cold, but hardly surprising.”

Dimmock pushed off the lockers and walked towards them.

“You and you’re fucking way of talking. Like you’re the king of England or something. Just ‘cause daddies rich doesn’t mean you are too.”

Mycroft smiled.

“I’ve heard it’s like father like son.”

A nerve on the side of Dimmocks head flickered into view as he turned slightly red.

“Ever since you’ve been hanging around this tosser you’ve been an arse,” Dimmock said, gesturing to Greg. “But, maybe you’ve always been a dick. You fucking ditched all of us for him? You’re the worst mate there could ever be.”

Mycroft’s pented up anger rose extremely quickly. Suddenly he hated Dimmock, more so than before, he hated Dimmock for making him something he was not, for making him think it was a good thing to lose his virginity to some random boy at a party, for insulting him, his family, his hobbies, his sexuality. Suddenly everything Dimmock had ever done that had made Mycroft mad, but Mycroft had ignored, came surging back, and he boiled with anger.

Before he knew it he had lunged forward, a balled fist in the air, aiming for Dimmock’s face. But Greg got there first.

He was surprisingly strong. He threw one huge punch, and Mycroft thought he heard a bone crack. Dimmock staggered back and Mycroft lowered his hand, staring.

“What the fuck?” Dimmock lifted a hand to his face and touched his bleeding nose. Mycroft looked at Greg. The brunette stood, massaging his bright red knuckles. Mycroft knew what was coming next. Saw it when Dimmock realized he had been hit, so he grabbed Greg’s arm and pulled him back.

“Let’s leave, now,” He turned and began to run, assuming Greg had followed, with Dimmock cursing behind them. At a safe distance, Mycroft stopped and so did Greg.

“Gregory,” Mycroft said, standing up, out of breath and red faced. “What did you just do?”


	16. A kiss to heal you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, I'm updating this chapter right now, as a treat for you guys, for being so patient.
> 
> I may need some more time for the next chapter, as I haven't written it yet. Once I"ve written at least three more chapters, I'll update again!

Greg walked home carefully, glancing around every so often at sounds he thought were centimeters away. He could feel eyes on him, silent eyes, like a predator stalking a prey. Every part of him begged he hurry back to his house. The darkness descending around him was no friend. He shivered as he walked, his nose freezing colder and his cheeks turning redder.

“Hey Greg!”

Greg turned and, after a moment, began to run. They were there, just a good 10 feet away. Large figures in the white night. He thrust himself forward, daring himself to run faster. He could hear them nearing, and his house grew larger. He breathed in heavily and adrenaline coursing through him, pushed faster.

When he reached his pathway, he hardly stopped. He sprinted the stairs and shut the door, locking all three locks behind him. The minute he did, he heard a banging on it.

“Come on now, Greg. Don’t be a spoilt sport. Open up for us, won’t you?”

Greg backed away. He was so out of breath, he could hear his heart in his ears, but he didn’t dare breath loudly.

Another hard punch and he heard the door crack slightly.

“If you don’t, we’re going to your boyfriend’s house,” The voice beyond was deep, and though Greg was behind a door, he could hear a smile. “I’ll give you ten seconds Gregory.”

He heard shuffling and they stood back from the door.

“10.”

He swallowed. He couldn’t put Mycroft in danger. It had been his fault. He couldn’t let them hurt Mycroft for something he had done.

“9.”

But would they even manage to get into Mycroft’s house? No, of course not. It was mahogany wood, thick and strong. There was no way. They wouldn’t dare touch Holmes property.

“8.”

Greg thought of Mycroft in his room. A doorbell ringing faintly, and Sherlock in his lab, oblivious to the sound, deep in study. He imagined Mycroft hurrying down, opening the door, understanding almost immediately what was to happen, and stepping out to take it willingly. It was what Mycroft would do. Simply because, like him, Mycroft would think it was his fault. Would they tell him they would hunt Greg down if he didn’t step outside?

“7.”

Greg swallowed.

“6.”

His heart thumped inside his chest loudly.

“5.”

The snow on his gloves were melting, dropping noiselessly to the ground. His body was still and stiff.

“4.”

Greg took one step closer.

“3.”

Greg hovered above the door, lightly pressing his forehead against it.

“2.”

He lifted his head and stared forward determinedly.

“1.”

He unlocked and swung open the door.

“Greg! How great to see you!” Dimmock grinned at him. His face alight, his cheeks, rough with facial hair, had caught several snowflakes, and they dangled helplessly, stuck on him.

Greg stepped out of his house, and closed the door behind him slowly, biding for time

“Gentlemen,” He said in greeting, nodding his head towards them.

Then, there were stars in his vision when something hard hit the back of his head. He reached up and warm liquid seeped in between his fingers. Laughter echoed around him and it seemed to slice him open. His knees gave way as the back of his shirt grew damp. Someone lifted him, his legs were nearly limp. He was losing blood substantially. He could feel someone kick him on one of his sides, he could feel the bruise form, bloom, and he whimpered. He bled onto the snow he fell into. Someone had a bat. It hit his chest and something shifted in him, he cried out, but the blows continued. He could feel a million places on his body that burned. Salt tears dripped down his bloody face.

With weak eyelids, Greg looked up. Around him ,darkness unlike the sunset was gathering. Above him, Dimmock smiled widely. In one final, triumphant kick, Dimmock’s foot fell heavily on his nose, and it burst, breaking and gushing warm blood immediately. Too much blood, he was loosing too much. As his eyes closed, his arms and legs twitched, and then came to a standstill.

\---

Gregory woke up to a bright, blinding room. He licked his lips, and his throat burned at the movement. A faint beeping registered into his head. He turned his head, his muscles ached in an unimaginable way. His legs were stiff, trapped in something. When he looked down, he was wrapped in bandages and casts, wound around him like a blanket. Greg’s trembling hands obediently raised themselves. His arms were connected to wires and his finger was clasped under a clip.

“Greg?” A voice so soft, so warm called out. Greg jumped at the sound. He turned, his throat still unable to make any sound. A tall, thin red head, his hair on fire under the sun, sat on the sofa.

Greg’s heart skipped, and Mycroft looked at the heart monitor. Greg blushed uncontrollably. Mycroft noticed and ignored it.

“Are you alright?” His voice was still soothing and calm. He walked towards Greg slowly, as if they were in a sanction and loud noises would break their walls. Greg nodded slowly. Though in pain, he could only notice each step Mycroft was taking towards him. “There’s water on your bedside table,” Mycroft pointed. Greg turned and reached towards it greedily.

The water was cold, and it touched every inch of his throat. He drained it quickly and the relief was immensely strong.

“W-where am I?” He asked. His voice was not his; it was different, deeper and unrecognizable. He coughed. Mycroft looked around.

“I am fairly certain it’s a hospital,” Mycroft looked back at Greg, smiling. Greg’s heart picked up pace again, and both their eyes flickered to the monitor as the beeps grew slightly louder. Mycroft’s smile grew childishly larger, although he tried to hide it.

“Greg…what happened?”

Greg’s eyebrows furrowed together. White snow washed him into his faint, buzzing memory. He recalled some of it in silver threads, the door, the countdown, then with each new memory, the rest came flooding it.

“They…they made me come outside,” Greg replied, his words sounding like a question. He looked at Mycroft, and the red head’s face was drowned in…worry.

“Gregory I-,” Mycroft began.

“How long have I been sleeping?” He asked. Mycroft pressed his lips together.

“Two days,” He replied grudgingly. Greg leaned against his bed because his body throbbed. He looked up at Mycroft again.

“When did you get here?”

Mycroft smiled dimly.

“Just a while ago,” He replied. “ I should get your mum, she’d want to know immediately that you’re finally up,” He turned and left before Greg could understand.

A few minutes later, hurried footsteps neared him.

“Greg! Oh, Gregory, you’re awake. Oh, my darling, how do you feel, are you alright?” Grace ran forward, with clear strength, she refrained from doing anything but touching the bare section of Greg’s arm. Her face was dark and hollow. There were circles under her eyes. She looked so worried, Greg could barely recognize her.

“Mum?” He replied. She smiled, extremely relieved.

“Oh honey, mum’s here,” She clutched Greg’s hand with both of hers and Greg squeezed back. Greg knew she was holding back questions. He knew she wanted every detail, and he knew she was biting her tongue. He put his head back. “You need to rest more, go back to sleep. Mum’s here, don’t worry, I won’t leave you.” Her lips pressed onto his forehead and they felt warm.

Greg closed his eyes and drifted soundlessly into sleep, the drugs injected in him relieving the pain.

\---

When Greg woke up again, it was dark. He didn’t know if anyone was with him. In fact he was certain he was alone. Greg reached out blindly for water, and he found a full glass. He drank it, and when he was trying to put it back, he missed the desk and it fell to the ground, shattering loudly.

“Greg?”

Greg jumped again. He turned around, but he could only see darkness.

“Mycroft?” He asked aloud.

“Yes,” Mycroft replied from somewhere in front of Greg. Greg sat up carefully.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

Mycroft didn’t reply.

“Are you alright?” Mycroft countered, after a moment.

Greg shook his head.

“No, why are you here?” He asked again. Greg heard Mycroft sigh.

“Well, clearly it’s because I’m worried,” Mycroft replied. Greg heard shuffling, and he realized Mycroft was getting up. “I’m worried, because it was my fault,” The voice grew nearer. “I know who it was, I know what they did. I…I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

Greg’s heart picked up pace, and beside him, the monitor gave it away. He flushed so deeply, his cheeks burnt, but it was so dark, Greg didn’t think Mycroft could see, the red head continued as though he could not hear the beeping.

“I’ve been coming every night, because…I can’t sleep knowing you’re in here.”

The heart rate monitor began to race as Mycroft’s soft voice came closer and closer. Greg sat up higher.

"Every night? I can't...I can't really be worth all that...."

“I’ve been coming, because I care so much about you, I get sick thinking you’re here, spending nights in agony, because I messed up.”

Mycroft was almost right next to Greg. He shook is head. "But...but why? Why do you care so much?" 

“Because you mean more to me, than I am willing to admit.”

There was a hollow silence between them, and in the background, the monitor flashed and beeped, because Greg could feel his heart flying in his chest, and there was no way Mycroft could ignore what he was doing to Greg's heart. 

Suddenly, he could feel Mycroft’s heat growing closer, above him, nearing him, coming down on him, closing in on him.

Then there were lips softer than the clouds on his. The pain of all his wounds washed away, everything ache in his mind grew golden and burst. His weak hands lifted up and held onto Mycroft’s clothes. His lips responded, and the warmth stopped every artery, put everything on hold. There was such love, such strength, and he stole it all as their kiss grew deeper. Greg clenched his fists, the shirt in his hands crumpling, and Mycroft’s hands wound into Greg’s hair, where they tangled and pressed down.

It was unlike anything he had experienced. It was a confidence he never knew existed, it was a passion so hot, his insides burned. The monitor behind him was beeping so fast, it was starting to sound like a single sound.

And then suddenly the lights flicked on, and a group of nurses rushed in, pushing a bed on wheels. They looked up at Mycroft, still leaning inches above Greg, but parted from his lips, to Greg. Then slowly, they left, putting off the lights again. Greg brought his hands to his face and groaned. Above him, Mycroft smiled and laughed.

“Gregory,” Mycroft’s voice was so close, it was almost inside him. Greg looked up again, and Mycroft kissed his lips once more, so softly, it was almost a brush. “You should get some sleep.”


	17. I don't need a sedative, just you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IM SO SORRY IT'S BEEN FOREVER!! IT'S BEEN MOOONTHS. I can't even promise regular updates anymore, I can just try my best :( :( I'm sorry. I've got another chapter ready for you though! Enjoy this one :)

It was a long time before Mycroft finally woke up, and he found he had just over ten minutes to get to school on time. Though he didn’t want to leave, more specifically: leave Gregory, he had to. So he grabbed his jacket, gave one last longing look towards the brunette, and then turned and hurried down the white, bleak hallways.

\---

Gregory woke up to blinding sun from windows with undrawn curtains. He blinked several times as he adjusted to the light, and lifted his hands slowly. All his movements triggered pain, and he wanted to lie back down, but his hands kept moving, searching for something, for another hand, but there was nothing. Empty sheets and an empty chair Mycroft had once been sitting in. Greg swallowed and sat back. The hospital was unnervingly silent; his heart beat steadily on the monitor beside him.

And then things rushed towards him, he closed his eyes as he began to remember what had happened last night. As he recalled the kiss, the fingertips, the touches, the gentle caress of his best friend. He could remember it all like it was happening. His lips could taste the ghost of Mycroft on them right now. And then everything brightened. Mycroft had kissed him, kissed him because he’d wanted to have Greg on his lips, not for anything else. Kissed him just like Greg had been waiting for him to from the first day they’d met.

Greg’s stomach clenched and he wanted Mycroft right here again, wanted to touch him, touch his hair, and kiss his soft, red lips. But he was gone, and Greg felt his absence unlike any other presence.

“Good morning, how are you holding up?” The nurse asked as she bustled in. She opened a tray in front of Greg, and placed his breakfast, he’d suddenly lost his appetite, on it. She replaced the dying flowers in the vase by the window, and began the daily check up on Greg. 

“Yeah, thanks,” Greg mumbled as she adjusted the pillows behind him.

“You should hear all the nurses, they can’t stop talking about what happened last night,” She smiled at Greg. “When they ran in on you…”

Greg blushed and she chose not to finish the sentence.

“Are they really gossiping over it?” He asked, groaning. The nurse laughed.

“Oh, nothing bad, you know the younger ones, always chattering away. They’re just very glad, they’ve been talking about you two since you were first admitted,” She rambled as she continued her work. Greg gave her a confused look.

“What were they saying?” He couldn’t imagine they’d had much to talk about since he was fast asleep the whole time. The nurse looked up at him as she injected something into the bag of liquid attached by a thin pipe to his arm.

“Well, just that they’ve been waiting for something to happen between you two,” She explained. When Greg looked more confused, she continued. “He’s been here everyday, stays most nights as well. He claims it’s because he knows your mum works hard, and doesn’t have much time to see you, and he knows she wouldn’t want to you to be alone...” Her voice dropped slightly, as though she didn’t’ want anyone to overhear her “But, the nurses keep saying it’s because he likes you so much, he can’t stay away. Godness knows they’ve been here long enough to know when someone cares about their “friend” in a more intimate manner.”

Greg looked down at his thumbs.

“He’s here…everyday?” He asked. The nurse nodded like it was obvious.

“He’s ballistics over you, can’t stop asking questions all the time, keeps coming, and keeps bothering the doctors. I haven’t seen someone who isn’t family act like that over another person in a long time. Come to think of it, even family members don’t get so worried.”

Greg felt a warmth grow inside him. Mycroft hadn’t been lying. He really did care. Greg felt a kind of need he had never felt before. He wanted to get up, find a car, and drive to Mycroft. He wanted to tell him he knew it all, and he’d have done the same if Mycroft were ever in the same situation. The nurse put the rest of her tools down and looked at Greg sympathetically.

“He’ll be over in over an hour or so. Usually drops by around then. I’ve got to run some more errands, you keep resting,” She said, rolling her cart out of the room.

Greg didn’t move for a long time. He didn’t do much, just kept thinking, and imagining Mycroft running about, worried out of his mind, sitting on the chair every night, staring at Greg sleeping, watching his heart beat, watching his hands make small movements.

When the phone rang, Greg jumped out of his skin. It had been so silent, such a loud noise shattered around him. He reached out and, wincing, answered it.

“Hello?”

“Gregory?” Mycroft breathed into the line. Greg’s hand tightened around the phone, and he sat up quickly.

“Oh, hi,” He said quickly. Hearing Mycroft now, after everything he knew, after what had happened last night, was so much more different. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, really, I was just calling to see if you’d woken yet. I thought perhaps I’d drop by, for my free period,” Mycroft sounded like he was walking while he was talking.

“Oh, I’m awake, yeah,” Greg replied awkwardly. Mycroft laughed into the receiver and Greg blushed.

“Thanks for telling me, I’d have had no way of knowing otherwise,” Mycroft sounded like he was smiling. Greg pressed his lips together in embarrassment.

“Erm, hurry here, it’s kind of, boring,” Greg stumbled out the words.

“Of course, anything for you,” Mycroft replied. Greg’s heart monitor gave a small irregular beep. “See you soon,” Mycroft said, then the phone cut, and Greg lowered his hand.

 

\-----

 

“What are you thinking about?” A voice called out. Greg turned to the red head walking into the room. The heart rate monitor, damn that thing, began to beep slightly faster. Greg wanted to slam it on the ground.

“Nothing,” He replied. Mycroft walked towards the bed, and sat on the chair beside it, putting his bag on the ground. Greg stared at him for a few moments. Everything about Mycroft perturbed Greg now, and he felt conscious of his horrible state.

“When did you wake?” Mycroft asked, he lifted his hand, and inched it towards Greg’s. It suddenly became very hot in the room; Greg found it hard to think when Mycroft’s finger started drawing gentle circles on his palm. He swallowed and moved his head.

“Erm, just a, while ago,” He said uncertainly. 

“Are you feeling better?”

Greg shook his head.

“Not really, everything just, hurts,” He said as he closed his eyes. But this was what he wanted, he’d take the aches all over him, the aches inside him, if it meant Mycroft would be sitting beside him, touching him so softly. He’d sit here forever, if it meant he could be with Mycroft. “But it’s a bit better now that…you’re here,” Greg choked out. It was tremendously hard for him, to talk to Mycroft in such an intimate way, and that was far too clear. Mycroft was sympathetic.

“That’s why I came,” He replied. “School was uninteresting, not that it’s ever very interesting. You would be surprised how much damage you did to Dimmock’s nose. If you ask me, it’ll be a little crooked permanently, from here on out.”

Greg laughed.

“If it’s crooked, I’ll be glad, because he’ll have left scars and bruises all over me,” Greg joked, but as he finished it, his voice died down slightly. Mycroft’s hand covered Greg’s completely and it felt more reassuring than Greg could have imagined it being. 

“I’m sorry,” Mycroft started.

“It’s not your fault,” Greg sounded slightly angry. He softened his voice immediately. “I shouldn’t have gotten so mad, it’s my own fault,” He sighed, and Mycroft, obviously dying to deny it all, pursed his lips. Greg looked up, and his eyes were sagging with a sadness he’d been hiding.

And then Mycroft couldn’t stop himself, not with the way Greg was looking at him, his slumped body, his broken eyes. His hands were wrapped around Greg’s face, and his lips were hovering millimeters away from Greg’s lips.

It felt like a million nanoseconds in which he didn’t move. Greg pushed himself forward a bit, to connect them but even then, their lips were only almost touching, their foreheads pressed together, their closeness a heat so strong, so full of passion. The heart rate monitor was beeping unbelievably fast again, and Greg reached up with his hands, and pulled Mycroft onto him.

They kissed for an infinity, they kissed like they wouldn’t be able to tomorrow. Greg traced the bumps and lines on Mycroft’s face with his fingers, and Mycroft held onto Greg gently, yet with a strength that said he’d never let go.

Mycroft pulled back, panting, and smiled.

“None of it, Gregory, was your fault. Not any of it,” He murmured. Greg almost thought he’d made it up, it had been spoken so softly. His thumb touched Mycroft’s red lips lightly, with a wonder, a curiosity. He didn’t want to talk, he wanted to touch, to kiss, to feel. Mycroft didn’t leave his eyes, didn’t move an inch, but he seemed to shiver under Greg’s hands. Greg wondered, if Mycroft were hooked onto a heart monitor, would his heart beat so feverishly? 

“I’m going to kill that thing,” Greg whispered. Mycroft furrowed his eyebrows, then looked at the monitor and laughed.

“I wouldn’t have had the confidence to do half of the things I’ve done without it,” He argued. Greg left Mycroft, reached down, and took the clip off his finger. The monitor went flat, and Mycroft looked confused.

“Then you put it on, and give me the confidence to do something,” Greg held it up. Mycroft looked reluctant. He gave a “do-I-really-have-to?” look. Greg shook his head, and watched as the red head reached up and, unwillingly, placed it on his finger. It took a second, and then a regular heartbeat began on the monitor. Greg looked at the green lines, then his eyes flickered to Mycroft’s, and they were so brown, Mycroft felt them see through him.

A small flicker in Mycroft’s heartbeat appeared on the screen. Greg looked at the monitor to make sure he hadn’t made it up. He smiled, and it flickered again. Then he started to laugh, and Mycroft blushed uncontrollably, but the monitor continued to pick up pace. 

“That is very embarrassing,” Mycroft blushed. “Can I take it off?” He pleaded. Greg, still smiling broadly, shook his head. He couldn’t feel the pain in his ribs as he laughed anymore, not with Mycroft sitting on the bed with him, looking like he’d taken off his pants in front of a crowd of people.

“Not yet,” He reached up, grabbed Mycroft’s tie, and pulled it down, dragging Mycroft with him. “But you can do something else,” He whispered, a confidence he hadn’t realized he’d had building up as the monitor continued to beep faster.

And then they were kissing, and he tasted like a summer afternoon, and like something distinctly Mycroft. Greg smiled in the kiss at the racing monitor. He liked this, if it were up to him he’d attach a monitor to Mycroft all the time.

Mycroft pulled back, for a moment, and spoke as though he’d read Greg’s mind.

“You do know, that this is what my heart is like every moment I’m with you?” He didn’t need to speak loudly; he was so close to Greg. Nearly on top of him. “You do that to me,” He pointed to the monitor. “Every time you’re anywhere near me, every time you look at me, or touch me, or talk to me.”

Greg looked at him with wide eyes.

“You don’t need that monitor, Gregory,” Then he lifted Greg’s hand and placed it on his chest, just where his heart beat, and pressed it down. Beneath his hand, a faint drumming could be felt, and it matched the monitor. “You can feel it in my chest every moment we’re together.”

Greg lifted himself, ignoring his body screaming in protest, and crushed himself into Mycroft, kissing him with a new passion, a new heat, and he hadn’t moved so much in so long, his body could barely handle it, but Mycroft was an antidote, and as long as he was there, Greg could push the pain away.


End file.
